A Pirate's Life Created
by StarCrossdSparrow
Summary: The infamous Captain Jack had to begin somewhere... why not the beginning? Jack's origin and on to the horizon. Complete!
1. Goodbye, Sweet Paris

_Author's Note: Sadly, I don't own anything related to _Pirates of the Caribbean_ or any characters therein. Nor do I have any affiliation with the Walt Disney Company, Jerry Bruckheimer, Gore Verbinski, Terry Rossio, Ted Elliot, Stuart Beattie, or Jay Wolpert. However, if any of the aforementioned would like hire me, drop a line or send a limo._

_I do, however, claim full responsibility for the crew of the _Atropos_ and for Angel Sparrow._

**XxXxXxXxX**

"Well, love, as you well know, my story does have a happy ending. Thanks in large part to you," my husband stroked my fingers softly as he spoke. His grin was inviting, challenging, and full of good humour all at the same time. There was ever more grey streaking his black locks, yet he remained as devilishly handsome as the day I first laid eyes on him. I smiled and looked down at the dark wooden table.

"Don't hide those hazel eyes from me, pet," he chucked his forefinger under my chin and lifted my face to his. I laughed, luxuriating in his intense gaze.

"Alright, Jack, continue your tale. And, quit with the compliments or we'll end up entangled in that bed over there before I hear all the juicy parts," I urged, moving my chair closer to his.

We sat in the grand cabin. We'd managed to finish a bottle of good Jamaican rum between us, a gift from a man Jack claimed to have "saved from some sort of peril." That's how we happened upon our current conversation. We'd been married for eight years. The years had passed swiftly, filled with plundering, adventure, old friends, new enemies, battles, and our love. And it was sudden that I realized how little I knew about my dear husband.

I know that he is Captain Jack Sparrow. He is the cleverest man I've ever met, the most tender lover I could ever imagine, and the most fearsome pirate in the Caribbean. Well, fearsome might be going a bit far, but he is clever and very good with both a cutlass and his rapier wit, depending upon the situation. But, beyond that, I know only what I've experienced at his side.

I am Angel. I was the daughter of the French monarch, Henri IV of France and his mistress. But, once I met Jack, I couldn't pass up the hand he offered and the adventure that came with it. My story is one for another time. I only thirst for Jack's at the present moment.

The oil in the lamp on the table was low, so Jack lit a candle. In the softer light, his dark good looks jumped out at me even more. The years melted away and he looked like a young man. I smiled and waited for him to continue.

His story went like this...

"Jaques! Jaques, darling? Where are you? I must have this dress, now!" my mother screamed. I was behind a scrim on the stage, mending it with a fine needle and thread. I scurried out from behind the thin screen to see to her. Julie Sperrit was waiting in the wings, a burgundy gown all but falling from her white shoulders. She was a great beauty, but she looked a fright, even to me. Her dark chestnut locks were pinned up and wrapped so that they would not escape her wig. Her porcelain skin was red and blotchy from her nerves. She was performing her largest role ever tonight. I hurried to her and buttoned the gown quickly. She turned smartly on her heel and ran back towards the other girls who did not have a fine dressing room to find a suitable wig. I watched after her, sad that she didn't bend to kiss my forehead like she usually did.

I felt a large hand on my shoulder. I knew it was Jean Roget, the theater's manager, "Tonight should be a fine take, Jaques my boy. A fine take indeed." I nodded, fighting the urge to cringe.

At the age of six, I had been granted several jobs at the Paris Opera. I was a costumer (I helped all the ladies into and out of their dresses between scenes because my hands were small and deft on the buttons), a stage hand (I was given lots of chores, such as lighting the footlamps and mending lamps high above the stage... I had learned the best ways to hang by one arm from the stage rigging and not burn myself in the process), and I was the establishment's very best pickpocket.

Roget had explained to me that even in a very fine place such as the Paris Opera house, the actors never made the money that they should. It was my task to pilfer as much coin as I could for their sakes. For every Louis d'or I brought back, I was to receive one louis d'argent. One gold for one silver. I wasn't aware that I was being swindled by Roget and my mother never knew that I swindled the guests. I guess I was happier ignorant of that small truth, as she undoubtedly was. Of course, none of the actors ever benefited from my quick hand, but I didn't know that, either. I was now fourteen and still able to pick pockets with quiet alacrity.

That evening, I was dressed in my best. As Roget had said, tonight was to be a big take. _Cadmus & Hermione _was opening and my mother was to play Pallas Athena. She was beside herself to perform the role of a goddess in Jean-Baptiste Lully's newest opera. I was nervous for her. From the first notes of the overture, I stood breathless in the wings. Of course, I had to assist the actors and actresses as they came off stage, but nothing could distract me from my mother's contralto voice. It was as though heaven poured right down through the rafters. Her performance was flawless. However, at the intermission curtain, I had to go to work.

I slipped through the crowds on the grand staircase and in the foyer with ease. I was tall, but thin. Most probably took me for someone's son or a cousin. No one ever asked me what I was doing at the Opera or questioned my right to be there. When someone did notice me, they usually smiled at me and continued with their conversations. I knew I was a striking young man. I had my mother's dark hair and her well-defined cheek bones. My skin was so dark that many mistook me for an Italian child, but I always smiled and said nothing. As far as I was concerned, I was just a rare young Frenchman. My mother often told me that I'd be so beautiful that I could win the heart of anyone in an audience once I took the stage. Indeed, many of the seasoned actors took me under their wings, teaching me parts of duets and steps to the elaborate dances. I was equally accomplished at mimicking the swordplay on stage. I often helped the actors learn their steps for big duels.

That night as I made my way across the marble foyer, I noticed a dark haired gentleman near a large mirror and made for him through the crowd. He stood nearly a head taller than the men surrounding him. He was speaking English. My mother spoke English to me sometimes, so I knew the language. I didn't prefer it. The soft curvature of French was much more beautiful to me, and of course, it was the language in which my mother sang. Still, I couldn't help but be drawn by the conversation.

"It is her, Annesley. I know her face anywhere and her voice is equally unforgettable," the tall man said.

His companion was considerably smaller. He had sandy hair and pink skin. His nose twitched nervously while Tall Man spoke. I think he was afraid of being struck. "I believe you, Charles. But, you just can't rush up to her on stage and begin a conversation. We've arranged to meet her through Roget, and so it will be." The smaller man's voice was so bathed in some foreign brogue, I nearly did not understand him.

The man called Charles nodded. Suddenly, a cough wracked his body. He put a handkerchief to his mouth and I spotted blood on it. I think I gasped because before I turned to fade into the crowd, I saw the men look at me.

After the performance that night, I turned in thirty-two Louis d'Ors, twelve half louis d'argents, ten quarter d'argents, five eighth d'argents and fifty two copper coins, a mix of sols and deniers. Roget was distracted and allowed me to keep all of the silver and copper. I almost asked why, but I kept mum and hurried off with my purse. I didn't get too far before my mother embraced me. She spun me around and hugged me close.

"I did it, Jaques! I impressed Monsieur Lully! He promised me the lead role in his next opera," she hugged me close and spun me again. She let me go and held me at arm's length, her eyes twinkling with tears. "Oh, Jaques, sometimes it surprises me how much you've grown! I can hardly believe it."

I laughed at her and swiped at her tears, "I am so proud of you, maman! You were wonderful tonight!"

She hugged me again. We were soon interrupted by Roget. "Mademoiselle Sperrit? Please come with me." She stood, still beaming and followed Roget. He beckoned for me to join them.

Roget led us to his private office. I'd been here once before as a young boy. Roget had taken me by the hand and led my through the large oaken door. He'd promised me a truffle. I'd barely escaped untouched. A feeling of revulsion descended upon me once again in the plush room. I stood by my mother as Roget led her to a deep-seated cane chair. She looked regal sitting there, still in her white powdered wig and burgundy gown. I flushed with pride again. Roget excused himself nervously and then the Englishmen from the foyer entered. I sucked in a breath. They'd been speaking of my mother!

My mother took in an equal breath and stammered in English, "Charles? Is it you?"

The tall man nodded. "I'm glad that you remember me after all these years, Julie." He coughed again, but did not bring the handkerchief to his mouth. "Am I to assume this young man is your son?"

My mother spoke words that I never thought I'd hear come from her mouth, "He is your son, Charles. His name is Jaques."

I'd learned enough from watching French gentlemen at the Opera not to let my surprise show, but inside I was screaming.

My mother nudged me forwards, "Jaques, this is your father, Charles Paulet."

He strode forward to meet me and shook my hand. His grip was surprisingly firm. I had though he'd be weaker. "Charles Paulet, First Duke of Bolton, young man."

"An honor, sir," I replied in English, though my English was heavily accented.

Monsieur Paulet's eyes widened almost imperceptibly. Obviously, he had not expected me to answer in his language. I suddenly felt as though I had the upper hand. Of course, his next words threw me down once more.

"I should think he is quite ready to accompany me to England then, yes Julie?"

She never even flinched, "Of course, Charles. I expected you sooner, though, I must say."

I was well beyond the age of tears, but just then I felt like crying. Could these people be serious? I'd spent my whole life in the Opera house, content that I did not have a father. I'd never even questioned it, as I'd had some much attention from the actors, actresses, and others in the theater. I had just wordlessly accepted my life as it was. I was happy in the Opera.

Charles continued, as though I wasn't even present, "Well then. Have him ready for six a.m. I shall send a coach round to fetch him. We depart tomorrow." He turned sharply on his heel and the man called Annesly followed him, looking a little like a loyal pup. If not for the previous conversation, I might have laughed.

I looked at my mother who continued to stare after them. She said nothing. Finally, I saw a solitary tear roll down her cheek, leaving a black streak through her rouged cheek.

"Maman! Please, talk to me! What has transpired here? I will not leave with that man! Please, maman! Say something!" I was beginning to feel hysterical. I stood and paced in front of the cold fireplace near the door. She still did not speak. I moved close to her and shook her. She slapped me hard across the cheek.

I reeled backwards. In my fourteen years, she'd never struck me. I laid my palm to my warm cheek and looked at her, agog.

"Jaques," she began dully, "I taught you better than to treat a lady that way. And you will depart with Monsieur Paulet in the morning." She stood and strode from the room. I hurried after her, holding back tears and holding in my screams.

We walked the three blocks through the muddy streets to our apartment on the rue Saint-Honoré. Once inside, I set about lighting a fire and my mother began putting my worldly possessions into her small valise. It wasn't full when she finished. I was wearing my only formal attire and most of my other clothes where cast off costumes designed for girls who played young men. It never bothered me before, but suddenly, I found myself being cast out onto the doorstep of some duke. He would laugh at me. I said as much to my mother,

"Charles will see you properly outfitted," her voice was still dull. The light that had shone from her after he performance had dimmed considerably.

I put my arms around her. I knew it would pointless to argue with her, so I did not. "I don't know how I can leave you, maman. When will I see you again? Why must I go to England?" I felt the tears building again and fought hard to swallow them. I would not add to my mother's burdens.

She cradled me against her breast the way she had when I was much younger. I hadn't noticed until now that she'd never changed out of her costume gown. What once had made her look so regal now dwarfed her and made her look sad. "Jaques, my darling Jaques. He is your father. I ran from him, you know. I did not know I was carrying you when I fled England. I only knew I could not shame him."

"But how could you shame him, maman? You are a great and beautiful lady!"

She laughed. "You have not yet seen the world, mon petit Jaques. There are more women far lovelier than your maman," she began, "But, aside from that, I am not highborn. I could never have married your father. But I always knew he'd come for you."

I sat up and looked at her, studied each faint line around her mouth, the dimple in her right cheek, the black fringe around her eyes, smudgy and spiky from too many tears. I removed the wig and net binding her hair and let the shiny sable locks tumble over her pale shoulders. I found a clean rag and removed her make up. Only then did I allow myself tears. Only when she was divested of the costuming that made her a goddess. We embraced and cried together. We clung to one another until sunlight spilled over the windowsill. I cursed the sun. I had wanted the day of our parting to be filled with the same thunderstorms that raged in my heart. As Charles' coach drove away from our little garret, I remembered that my mother had never told me when I'd see her again.

The trip had thus far been slow. Monsieur Paulet had been uncommunicative to say the least. Annesly had done his best to start a conversation, but I hadn't felt like talking much either. Like father, like son I thought bitterly.

When we arrived in Calais, I breathed the salt sea air for the first time. I was not excited for the destination, but I was eager to be aboard the ship. Annesly told me that the crossing would take no more than a few hours and we'd been traveling most of the day as it was, but my spirits soared. I'd never been on a ship until today. It even partially overshadowed the longing I felt for my mother.

Paulet had his own ship docked and waiting in Calais. It was a sloop called the _Tempest_. I wasn't aware of the irony, I was only dazzled by her simple beauty. As soon as we were aboard the small ship, I felt at home. I felt that this was my stage, my arena, my destiny. I explored the length and breadth of her. Paulet paid me no mind, rather he chose to retire for the short journey. He made no complaint to me, but I could see he was unwell. Annesly likewise looked a little green, but did not go below decks.

The sparse crew paid me no mind and I hung over the bulwarks and clung to the rigging. I was too slight to make any changes to the sails and soon I was shinnying up the bowsprit and hanging out over the water as though I'd been born aboard a ship.

Annesly, rather than try to stop me, waited patiently for me to come nearer to him. When I finally did settle, looking over the water at the rapidly approaching cliffs that signaled the end of our journey, he wobbled over to me and mimicked my easy stance, arms folded on the bulwark. "You'll like Bolton, I think. It's not far from the Irish Sea. The Duke has several boats."

"He doesn't seem to like them much," I said. I hadn't meant for my words to come so sharply, but the events of the past day had worn my manners down.

"Aye, lad, but he used to. He was a great sailor. Perhaps he could teach you a thing or two."

I made a noise indicating my disbelief in that. I was far from ready to believe anything good of Monsieur Paulet. So, I changed the subject, "Why is that you talk so differently from my mother and the Duke?"

Annesly laughed. His laugh was hearty and wholly unexpected from the small man. The pink in his cheeks showed more beneath the green pallor. I almost smiled in spite of my stormy mood, "Oh, son, I'm a Scottsman born and bred, you see. I come from the best stock in the north." The last word sounded suspiciously like there was a misbegotten "a" in it. I laughed.

"A Frenchman, an Englishman, and a Scot? Well, sir, if you'll excuse me, it sounds like I have wandered into a joke that one might hear in one of the saloons," I answered. I received another laugh and Annesly clapped me on the back.

"Well, it appears the two of you are getting along well," came the clipped English from behind us. We turned. Paulet's color had not improved, but he looked more stern than ever. I snickered at him and Annesly nudged me in the side. "We are almost to port, gentlemen," the Duke finished. I held back one more snicker and we disembarked.

Dover was a bustling port town, but before I had the chance to look my fill, Paulet had herded us into a well-sprung stage coach. We were the only passengers once more. I assumed the Duke owned this, as well. I could hardly wait to see Bolton. I was surprised they hadn't renamed the town Paulet since this was obviously a wealthy man. The long ride was punctuated with a few stops to refresh the horse and gave me time to see my new home. The England I saw was cold and sparse. Compared to my beautiful Paris, the rolling hills and valleys did little to pique my excitement.

Bolton did even less. The town seemed dismal and in disrepair. The Duke's property was slightly more inspired. It was a sprawling home that looked as if it had sat on the same spot for two hundred years and grown outward, much like Paris. The main house had a black and white half-timbered facade and the wings were of brown bricks. There were several clusters of chimney's, all with ridiculous-looking chimney pots. The house also many gables, all featuring several narrow windows apiece. Some of the gables even overlapped. From the outside, it seemed as though the inside was going to be difficult to navigate. I was hoping it would be a place I could easily lose myself.

We pulled round to the entrance and there was a line of servants awaiting us. Servants! Annesly got out first and announced the Duke, as though they didn't know he was coming. Once he disembarked, he marched past them and into the house. A man (I soon learned he was Paulet's valet) scurried along behind him. I slid out of the carriage next and I immediately blushed. The two maids immediately bent their gazes to one another and I think the butler rolled his eyes. Annesly patted my arm and said, "This is the Duke's new charge. You'll see to him as you would the master himself. Dismissed."

On the way in the house, I turned to Annesly, "Why do you get to tell them what to do?"

Th Scot laughed again, the sound booming along the polished wooden floors and against the stained-glass windows, "Because I am Charles' brother, young Jaques." He nodded cheerily at me and headed off in another direction.

"Wait!" I called after him. He turned.

"What shall I do?" I asked. I hated the pathetic pleading in my voice.

"Oh, I nearly forgot!" he turned around and bellowed, "Cary!"

A tall, rail thin boy appeared as if out of thin air. "Father?" he asked, an impish smile spreading across his freckled face.

"Oh, there you are. See to the young sir, if you please."

Cary gave a sharp nod and beckoned me to follow him. He had almost disappeared again before I could follow. I lifted my thin valise and chased after him. The hallways were wide, but dimly lit. Even though the sun shone brightly outside, it hardly made it through the tightly shuttered windows. I caught up to the boy as he mounted a grand staircase. The wood was dark and worn, but polished to a high gloss. I knew from the wear on the treads that this was probably the oldest part of the house. Cary scrambled soundlessly up the stairs, but everywhere I stepped, the wood groaned beneath my feet. Cary laughed and wordlessly urged me to follow faster.

Upstairs was even darker, but here the hall was laid with a deep carpet. I sunk soundlessly into it as Cary headed left from the staircase. I looked over my shoulder as I followed him. The hall seemed to stretch a great distance, but I saw a narrow window at the end, so I was sure I hadn't entered some nightmare. It was as dark in this house as the darkest basement corners in the Opera House. I shivered.

Finally, Cary stopped in front of a large set of double doors on the right side of the hall. The ceiling seemed to stretch upwards to accommodate the towering doors. I let my breath escape me as I followed their carvings up. There appeared to be a scene depicting the bowels of hell toward the bottom and then heaven eluded me, for it was carved into the top. Cary laughed at me again and clapped me on my shoulder, similar to the way his father had on the sloop. "Oh, you are much to easy to scare! It's just a door," his voice carried the same hint of brogue that coated Annesly's speech, but it was more refined and clipped.

I looked at him without smiling. And he laughed again before speaking, "This is the Duke's private suite. This is the only place in the whole house where I am not allowed. You should be equally wary of it."

I just nodded and Cary headed further down the hall. Soon, we were at the end. We had at last found another window. I looked out and saw an exquisite garden to the right and a lush lawn to the front and left. The late-day sun fairly sparkled on the grass. I longed to run through it and into the trees at the edge of my vision. I sighed and returned my thoughts to the hall. There was a set of narrow stairs on the right and a normal sized door on the left of the hall. Cary opened the door and it swung inward to reveal a grand-looking sitting room and a bedroom beyond.

"This is your suite," Cary said, pushing me gently inside. I was dazzled by the luxury around me. There was a huge fireplace, cold, but ready to be filled with a roaring fire. There was even a packet of small logs on the hearth and the necessary tools next to it. Above the mantle was a portrait of young man. His hair was long, fastened in a ponytail at his nape. He wore a fine red hunting coat and stood with one boot on a freshly slain brown bear. The gore pooling at the animal's mouth almost glistened in the low lamplight. I grimaced. The man held a polished steel hunting rifle over his left shoulder. His gaze seemed to peer out from the portrait right at me. It was like looking into a mirror.

"The Duke," Cary said soberly. I nodded. "Harry will be 'round to collect you for the late supper. If you'd like to freshen up, I can have Letty bring you a tub of water."

I waved him away. He stood another moment. "What can I call you? Do you even talk?"

A laugh sounded from my throat unbidden. "You mean you know nothing about me? Were you even expecting me?"

He shook his head to the negative, "No. The staff was expecting a young lady." Cary turned to leave.

"Jaques Sperrit," I called after him. He turned and grinned at me and was out the door before I could speak again.

I took my valise into the adjoining bedroom. A great bed, larger even than my mother's had been, stood in the center of the room. Another fireplace was ready at the far corner. I was glad to see another set of windows flanking the fireplace. From living in the garret so close to the roof of the building, I was used to having a breeze and seeing the watery Parisian sun filtering all through my room. I flung open the heavy maroon velvet drapes and looked out onto the glorious grounds. I was obviously in the front of the home and oriented towards the east because the horizon was already dark and I could see the road on which we'd traveled. From the other large window, I could see the small village at a distance and in a valley. On the edge of the tree-line sat a stable. There was a young man exercising a horse inside of a small fenced area. I'd never been astride a horse without my mother, and it had been years even since I'd done that.

I left the drapery open and sat back on the high bed. The hangings were red velvet to match the drapery and the comforter was a heavy silver wool. I laid back and contemplated my new home. But, before I knew it, a gentleman was calling my name. Well, not my name, but something else, "Young master? Master Paulet?"


	2. A New Home

I must have dozed there on the bed because I felt groggy and couldn't understand what the man was saying. I jumped up, nearly falling off of the high mattress. I turned to look at the man in the corner. It was the butler, Harry. "Master Paulet, supper is due to be served in the dining hall."

"Oh, uh, I think you're confused, Monsieur. My name is Sperrit. Jaques Sperrit," I stuttered over my own name. I think I blushed to the roots of my hair.

The butler snorted, "Well, sir, whoever you are, the master requests your presence at supper." He turned to leave and I scrambled after him.

He led me (or rather, I chased him) down the narrow stairs directly across from my assigned room. We came out in a large stone kitchen. Harry didn't realize that I was behind him until the two ladies in the kitchen gasped when they saw me there. I backed into the door that swung shut behind me.

"Oh, young sir, you shouldn't be in here," Harry said, hurrying me through the massive kitchen. "Go on through that door there and on into the parlor beyond." I was shoved rather unceremoniously through another heavy door. I found myself in yet another giant room, dominated by a table that could seat twelve people comfortably. An unlit chandelier hung low over the table, but the only light came from some dim oil lamps. I already missed the bright warmth of my chamber. I went through a large set of double doors and came into a parlor.

This must have been the center of the house, for there were no windows here. The walls were lined instead with tall bookcases. Paulet was seated before a flickering fireplace, wrapped in robe with a blanket across his lap. This tableau intensified my impression of him as a sick man. Annesly was standing to his left holding an unlit pipe. Cary was leaning against one of the bookcases, idly spinning a globe and looking rather bored. There was a young woman sitting across from Paulet. Her blonde hair was twisted into a neat roll, allowing a few tendrils to flow down against her long neck. She was very lovely, but her eyes looked dull. It was her who spoke first.

"But, Charles, darling, how will you explain him? I'm too young to have been hiding a fourteen-year-old boy in my skirts and you have no former wives. You'll be disgraced."

"I shan't have to explain him, Constance. I am lord of this manor and no one shall question me," came his answer. I was surprised at how stern he sounded. After seeing him look so ill, I expected him to sound tired and defeated. He was neither of these things.

I cleared my throat then. I really didn't want to hear anymore. I was already growing weary of people deciding things about me and speaking of me as though I wasn't present. Cary noticed me first, "Ah, if it isn't Jack. Now we can eat."

"It's Jaques," I corrected. He laughed. I was really growing very weary of him.

The woman stood and approached me. "Jack, how nice to meet you. I am Constance Paulet, duchess of Bolton and your stepmother. Please, call me Constance." I bowed slightly at her prim little speech before correcting her.

"It's Jaques. My mother named me Jaques."

"I'm sorry, young man," Charles Paulet began, "I cannot have people calling you Jaques Sperrit. You must take my name, Paulet, and be called Jack." He stood and strode toward the dining room as Harry appeared in the doorway to announce supper. The others followed suit.

I said nothing and followed the others. As soon a supper commenced, I spoke, "If you all are going to continue on as though I have no say in my life, I'd at least like to know why I'm here and when I'll get to see my mother again."

Paulet responded, his voice bitter, "You are here as my only surviving male heir. As you can see, I am riddled with illness and shall not last the year. Most of the estate will be taken over by my brother and wife here, but you must take over in name. And your name shall be Jack Paulet, second Duke of Bolton."

I scoffed, "I know nothing of your estate, your lands, or even your country. If it were not for the portrait in my withdrawing room, I would doubt that you are even my father. And you did not answer my second question."

Paulet set down his knife and fork carefully. The others seemed to hold their breath, waiting for his response. Even Harry and Letty the maid froze in their tasks. Finally he spoke. His voice was tempered but cold and ruthless, like the very sharpest blade of steel. "You shall never see your mother again. She was a mistake in my past. You are the result. I am relieved that you take after me, for I do not wish any reminder of Julie Sperrit in my final days. I was prepared to bring her here with me to repay old debts, but as fate would have it, there you sit. So, I suggest you do not ask further questions of me and endure the rigorous training that awaits you silently."

"Training? What training? Am I to learn to jump fences like a prized stallion... or to grovel and beg at the foot of your foolish king?" the question sprang, hot and unbidden, but forceful from my lips. I quivered with barely repressed rage.

Again Paulet did not answer immediately and when he did, his tone was calm but cold, "That, Monsieur Jack, was your last question. And I'll have you remember that you are in line for the throne you insult. Do watch your tongue."

The remainder of the meal was silent. I don't remember eating anything, but then, no one paid me much mind anyway.

Cary led me back through the cavernous house to my room. My anger had faded and I was numbed to the rich furnishings, statuary, and portraits we passed. When we finally arrived at my room, Cary grasped my arm, "I'm sorry, Jaques. Really I am."

I stared blankly at him, barely registering his words. He opened his mouth to speak again, but instead left me at the door and strode quickly away and down the long hall. I fell onto the bed and sleep descended upon me.

The next morning, the sun woke me by splashing it's rays across my eyes. For a moment, I thought I was home in my Parisian garret and needed to be up for a dawn rehearsal. I started and sat straight up, only to find myself sprawled on top of the blankets and still wearing my traveling clothes from yesterday.

Only moments after I woke, I heard a rap on my chamber door. When I didn't answer, I heard Annesly's familiar voice, burred by his rough accent, call out, "Jaques? Are you awake?"

I got out of bed a strode to the door. Annesly and Cary were standing there and Letty brought up the rear of the little party. "May we come in?" Cary asked, pushing past me. The other two followed him in. Letty had brought me a hearty breakfast of poached eggs, thick sausages, toasted rolls and jam, and fresh fruit. My stomach growled and I sat down to begin eating. She left us as soon as she set out the dishes and poured three glasses of juice.

Cary sat as well, watching me curiously as I loaded the food into my mouth. Annesly cleared his throat and I looked up at him. "Sorry," I said as soon as I'd swallowed.

He laughed, the full sound echoing through the room. "It's alright, young sir. I am not surprised as you ate so little yesterday." I saw that he had brought a small trunk into the room with him.

He laid it near a high-backed chair and went into my bedroom. He returned with a wooden valet. Once he'd set it up, he began unloading the box. Inside, there was a dark blue full skirted coat lined with gold buttons. The full sleeves also boasted gold masking. The breeches weren't fitted as I was used to, but bloomed like my mother's pantaloons. There was grey hose and a white linen shirt, as well as a white cravat, black cape and a large black plumed hat. Short square-toed boots completed the outfit. Soon after this costume was revealed, Harry arrived with another box. He laid it on the chair and excused himself at Annesly's nod. When Annesly opened it and produced the contents, both Cary and myself burst into a loud fit of laughter.

It was a long wig, tightly curled and white. It was an accoutrement rivaling anything I'd seen at the Opera house. "I won't wear that, if you please," I managed as I gasped for breath. This sent Cary into another gregarious fit of laughter and I joined him. Annesly held back, but I knew he was amused.

Finally, when we had settled, he spoke. "You really don't have to wear this wig, Master Sperrit, until you accompany your father to Parliament."

"Parliament?" I squawked. "What do you mean, Parliament?"

"Well, son, you understand you are your father's heir. You must keep up appearances as such."

"But I don't know anything about making English law!" I was becoming rather frightened. What did these people expect of me? I was a Frenchman, for one thing, and for another, I was only fourteen years old!

The Scot laughed, "Don't worry, young master, I shall direct you. And, really, none of the boobs in Parliament really know anything about lawmaking either." I laughed, and eased somewhat. Annesly continued, "But, for today and the coming weeks, Cary and I shall try our hardest to teach you about courtly life. Or, at least, as much as I know about it." Cary laughed again and I joined him.

Soon, I was dressed in my ridiculous finery, sans wig, and went with them to explore the grounds. Annesly told me I looked "striking" and Cary just kept laughing at me.

They told me about the recent death of Queen Mary II and of the reign of her widower, the King William III. I learned he was a permissive King, much more than The Sun King, Louis XIV. William had even passed measures to allow Parliament more freedoms and and restricted the monarchy's ability to override Parliamentary law. Many in the realm didn't favor this, wanting instead to rely upon the monarch's absolute rule. Charles was among them. Annesly was not.

Most of the following weeks proceeded this way. Daily, Annesly and Cary would come to me in the morning, bring me a new suit of clothes, and we'd go out onto the grounds for some new lesson. Sometimes it was current politics, sometimes history, sometimes philosophy. I even taught them about art and the opera. Talking about those things made the memory of my mother burn in my heart. I longed to see her again, to reassure her that I was surviving in the clammy climate. I rarely saw Paulet. He hardly even took supper with us. One week after I arrived, Constance departed to her family's home in Halifax, West Yorkshire. I did not see her again.

Cary and I were growing much closer. I had never had a friend close to my own age, as most of the actors and actresses had seemed worlds older to me. I had also never experienced many of the childish games with which Cary was acquainted. We spent all of our time together. When we were not with his father taking lessons, he was showing me all the hidden nooks and crannies in the house. We chased frogs in the garden and crept through the earthen corridor that led from beneath the kitchen underground to the stables. In the attic, there was a false wall where Cary kept his most precious books and mementos of his old home.

He explained to me that he'd been born in Scotland, his father's home. His mother had died giving birth to him. His father was Paulet's younger half-brother, but he had been a poor farmer in Scotland. When Paulet heard of his brother's loss and his poverty, he sent for him to live on his estate.

Cary also told me that up until three years ago, Paulet had rarely been at home. He preferred sailing in the Irish Sea and south in the Mediterranean. Paulet's father had been the Fifth Marquess of Winchester, and demanded him to come home and marry the girl he'd chosen for him. He'd done his duty and married Constance and settled in Bolton, taking his title as First Duke of Bolton. They had no children that lived beyond one year. Soon after his only son, James, had died in his third month, Paulet fell ill. Doctors could not cure him, and indeed, his condition deteriorated rapidly. As soon as he realized he was dying, he confided in his brother that he believed he had an heir in France to a girl he'd loved in his youth. He claimed that he saw her perform at the Paris Opera and intended to find her. Even if he had no heir, he wanted to bring her to his manor home and provide for her. And that's how I came to live in Bolton.

I began to see Paulet in a new light. I wasn't ready to like him, but I certainly felt sorry for him. He wasn't old, perhaps only forty. But, he certainly looked like he was about to breathe his last breath.

It was already November and the house had taken on a chill. I could feel the snow in the air. I'd been at the manor for two months and I had not been outside of the estate. Not even to the miserable little village. One cold night, however, Paulet joined Cary, Annesly, and I at supper. He was thinner than he had been when I had arrived. His cheekbones, so like my own, were quite visible and there were black circles beneath his eyes. I thought that if he were to remove his fine red robe, I would be able to count his ribs, perhaps even see his heart beat through his thin, pale skin. The mental image disturbed me.

Yet, when he spoke, his voice was steady, still as cold and sharp as it had been the first time I'd seen him in the foyer of the Opera. He spoke to me as soon as our plates where cleared after the final course. "Jack, you and I are going to London to meet with the House of Lords. You will be introduced formally as my heir. We will depart tomorrow."

His tone, as usual, brooked no questioning. But, also as usual, I could not hold my tongue, "And, if they fail to recognize me?"

"That is the second time you've questioned me when I told you never to do so," his reply was swift, and quiet. I stood and left the table. As I walked toward the staircase, I heard a great crash from the dining room. I smiled.

The next morning, Harry woke me. He was acting as my valet, since I did not have one of my own. He had another suit on the wooden valet prepared. The powdered wig was seated on a wooden head, groomed and awaiting me. I rose and dressed. I felt ridiculous in the heavy wig. However, when I descended the steps, I saw my father dressed nearly the same. He looked all the sicker for his finery. I said nothing to him. I nodded to Cary and Annesly and the staff. Cary had the good sense not to laugh, but he did wink at me as I exited.

Thankfully, the journey to London was quick. We were there before the noontime bells. I would not say as much to Paulet, but I was very nervous. Annesly had prepared me as best he could for the traditions of the House of Lords, and what to do when the others spoke, or what to say when speaking. There were a set of rules for adjourning Parliamentary discussion, meeting with the House of Commons, even for social meetings within the Houses. I couldn't ask Paulet for help, so I just hoped for the best.

As the stage took us through the busy London streets, I was pleased by the soaring architecture of the churches, the numerous playhouses and shops, even the abundance of people thrilled me. No city would ever make me as happy as Paris, but London was at least much more exciting than the Bolton manor house. I began to feel as though I finally belonged somewhere in this cold, awful country.

We arrived at Westminster Palace just after the House of Lords had adjourned to dinner. Paulet exited the cab in front of me and I followed him wordlessly. Once inside, several people greeted my father. Some called him Charles and clapped him on the back. When his head was turned, I studied their faces as they made note of his dire appearance. Many men just greeted him with a nod of their heads. He never once mentioned me. Even so, I saw many knowing glances float my way and heads bent conspiratorially as I passed. I looked too much like him for their to be any doubt of who I was and why I had accompanied him.

I sucked in an anxious breath when we finally entered the Lords Chamber. It was an enormous room with a vaulted ceiling at least sixty feet above my head. Directly across the room, nearly eighty feet from the threshold stood a large throne on a platform with three stairs leading to it. There was a gold canopy above it with red velvet hangings. Occupying the length of the room were three groups of red benches arranged in a U around the throne. High, arched windows and great battle frescoes adorned the walls and golden chandeliers hung low to light the space.

Paulet let me to the end of bench to the left of the throne. From my lessons, I knew we were on the Temporal side. The clerics would sit facing us on the Spiritual side. In the center of the room was the Woolsack. This was where the Lord Chancellor sat. The members of the House of Lords with no party affiliation sat on the bench behind the Woolsack. No sooner had we taken our seats when men began to filter in from the central lobby. Once everyone was seated, a trumpeter entered and sounded the king's approach. The Lords stood as one, I along with them.

William III was just as Annesly had described. He was a tall, powerful looking man with a great black head of hair. He was dressed in a red coat, red waistcoat, white breeches, and white cravat. He had a long, blue velvet robe over his broad shoulders, which was removed before he sat. The House of Lords spoke as one, "Long live the King!" I was relieved that I'd remembered to speak as well.

The King waved his hand as though bored. "Do get on with it, Lord Chancellor. I mustn't hang about here all day."

The Chancellor stepped from behind the Woolsack to address the king. "Your Majesty, there is only one bit of business remaining this day. Charles Paulet, First Duke of Bolton has come to claim an heir."

A buzz of reactions went up across the room. I colored to the roots of my hair. The King waved his hand again and a slow grin spread across his face. "An heir, has he? Well, I am anxious to see where he dug the little bastard up from. On your feet, Paulet!"

My father stood, never faltering even though it was difficult for him to move quickly. I felt a small rush of pride, but squelched it before it could grow. He strode toward the throne and stood next to the Chancellor.

"And the bastard, Paulet? Where is he? Don't keep me waiting. I have other matters to attend to that are far more relevant than any thing that your tired old dick could bring to life," said the King. Laughter erupted from all over the room. It bounced and echoed, seeming to beat down on me.

I stood, however, willing myself to stop blushing. I stepped beside my father and held my head high after giving the due veneration.

"Well, he certainly looks like you. Or, the ghost of the man you used to be," pronounced the King to more laughter. The King continued, "Young man, are you able and willing to accept the duties of Parliament and your fathers estate in the event of his death?"

"Yes," I began. I was surprised at how loud and clear my voice rang out. I had been trying to drop my French accent as much as possible at Annesly urging, but it was still present. "Yes, Your Majesty. I am willing to accept the duties as they shall fall to me." I had rehearsed the answer for three weeks. But I saw from the look that crossed the King's face, I had done something wrong.

"A Frenchman? Charles Paulet! Are you trying to commit treason in my court? Is this some spy for Louis XIV that you've picked up for a pittance?"

He spoke, his voice as loud and clear as ever, "No, Your Majesty, it is my son. His mother abandoned him in France. I found him there, with some whore in an Opera House."

I gasped. This drew the King's attention. I expected anger to smear his face. I only saw amusement. "Is this true, young master Paulet?"

"No!" Rage fairly bubbled out of me. "I am no French spy, Your majesty, that much is true. But the lies this coward sets before you are despicable. I am his son, and the product of union of which he is ashamed. My mother is a great and beautiful Englishwoman. She is a Parisian Opera star. Her name is Julie Sperrit!"

Paulet hung his head. I did not care if I was to be taken to the Tower, I would not have my mother defamed. Rather than the strike I expected, the King surprised me once again with a hearty laugh.

"Alright, boy," William began, "I grant you your father's duchy and his title in the event of his death, which I foresee to be rather untimely. I am glad you have the backbone he has lost. Now, Chancellor, is this little party adjourned?"

"Adjourned, Your Majesty," the Chancellor agreed. Once again, the Lords rose and spoke in unison, "Long live the King! Long live England!"

The King rose and all standing took a deep bow. His robe was affixed to his shoulders and he marched out. The rest of the Lords made for the lobby, some pausing to pat me or my father on the back. When the room was mostly empty, save a few lingering souls, I turned to him. He was as white as a sheet.

"Monsieur Paulet?" I asked. He swayed slightly on his feet, I caught him and lowered him to the cool, marble floor.

"Help! Please, someone!" I called. I heard people rush back into the cavernous room and soon we were engulfed in a crowd. He was taken out of my arms and rushed away. I honestly hoped I'd never have to see him again.


	3. The Sea at Last

I really didn't see my father much after that. We returned home when he was in a condition to travel. Annesly sent word to Constance, but she never arrived. Paulet remained confined to his chamber for the next three months, finally giving up his earthly shell in early February, during a raging blizzard.

Cary and Annesly had listened to my tale of what had taken place in Westminster Palace several times since I'd arrived home. They never seemed to believe that I'd shouted at the King of England. It didn't matter, really, what had happened had happened. I'd gone from a happy French pauper to a miserable English lord in a matter of five months. I continued to wallow in self pity all through the rest of the winter and the spring. I turned fifteen in June and somehow, a plan accompanied my birthday.

The evening of my birthday, the staff and Annesly had thrown me a small celebration. They had English pastries brought in as well as an array of fresh fruits, cheeses, and meats. After the meal, Cary and I adjourned to the stable. It had become my favorite place on the grounds after the garden. In the months since I'd first arrived, Cary had taught me to ride, I was excellent atop my favorite stallion, Gunpowder. He was a grey Andalusian and he stood more than fifteen hands high. He only had one eye, however, but I think his slight disability made him all the more ready to work hard and play harder.

As I groomed Gunpowder, I told Cary my plan.

He was a little leery, "What do you mean run away!"

Okay, more than a little. "I just mean that there is nothing here for me. I do not want to be the Duke of Bolton. Hell, I don't even want to be an Englishman! I miss my mother, and Lord only knows what's become of her."

"And of me, Jaques? What of my life? Of my father?"

"I did not say you had to come with me," I said, feeling indignant. I had believed he'd jump at the chance to accompany me to Paris. Rather than sulk, I went to him and put my arm around his shoulders and began again, "I am going, I am only offering you the chance to come with me! Come on, Cary! Paris! You'll love it!"

Cay looked at me and shrugged my arm off, "And if I agree? What shall we do in Paris? How shall we survive?"

"I told you," I said, with an annoyed sigh, "I will work at the Opera house as I have in the past until such a time as I can take the stage. All of the actors predicted great things for me, you know."

Cary remained silent and I began to saddle Gunpowder. I knew I would have to leave him behind when we arrived in the port at Morcambe. I just hope I could find an buyer who wouldn't sell him for meat.

Cary put his arm on mine, "Jaques!" he began. I smiled to myself. I knew he was serious if he was calling me by my given name rather than by Jack, "Please. I'll go with you. Only give me time to say goodbye to my father."

I shook my head, "If you try to say goodbye, he will only beg you to stay. I will miss him, too, Cary. He was very kind to me during my stay. But, I know with me gone, he stands to inherit all of my lands, the manor, and the ridiculous title. I will be doing him a favor," Cary stood in the doorway and I continued, "If you go to him now, I will be gone by the time you come back to the stable."

I can't be sure, but I think his eyes filled with tears. I knew I was being unfair, but I was leaving, with or without him. He turned roughly and began saddling his bay Arabian, Don Juan, I smiled and slid onto my mount and led him out of the stable. I knew the journey would only take about two hours on horseback, so I didn't bother to bring anything excessive. I left all of my fine clothes, except those on my back in my suite. I felt a small pang about leaving Annesly, but it was overcome when I saw my friend ride up next to me.

Cary sat high on his mount, as tall as I was, even though he was two years my senior. His reddish blond hair blew in the night air and his sober appearance vanished once his impish smile spread across his face. I grinned in response and turned Gunpowder towards the horizon. Towards freedom.

Morcambe was relatively quiet when we rode in. We found a stable and turned our horses over to a groom, tossing a fourpence on his books as we passed.

At the docks, Cary inquired about of of my father's smallest sloop, the _Feronia_. I knew she was only forty two feet from bowsprit to transom and thirty two feet to her masthead. Most importantly, I knew she could be crewed by two men. I went about seeing to the sale of our horses.

After a few failed attempts and one narrow escape (one man thought I was selling myself!), I found a man I felt I could trust not to butcher the horses. He paid me a little less than they were worth, but I took the money and set off to find Cary. When I caught up to him, he had just caught up to the sloop.

She was a beautiful ship and obviously well cared for. Her oaken hull was polished and looked freshly cleaned. Her furled sails looked like they'd never been patched. I leapt aboard and found myself behind the wheel. I knew I'd never sailed before, but being aboard a ship made my blood sing. I knew we'd make to Paris.

Just as Cary began to unfurl the mainsail, a voice came from the dock, "And just what do ya think ye be doin' on that there boat, gents?"

I stood, the words issuing forth from my lips unbidden, "Jack Paulet, Second Duke of Bolton. And who are you to question me, sir?"

It was a short man, perhaps five years my senior. At first I thought he was rather rotund, but on closer inspection, he looked powerful. He had a growth of beard on his large jaw and a handkerchief tied around his ample neck. "I be the man who takes care of this here boat. And I ain't never heard o' no man named Jack Paulet."

"I am the only heir of Charles Paulet, who is dead. I have come to claim my property."

"And might ye have proof o' that, Mister Paulet?" the shorter man asked. I saw his fingers tense near the sword at his side. I was regretting my lack of foresight to bring a weapon.

I reached inside of my coat and withdrew my official seal, a piece of parchment that bore the king's ensign.

The man looked at the paper. I don't think he read it, as I don't think he was able, but he seemed satisfied and handed it back, "All right, gents. I s'pose this means I ain't got to look after yer boat no more." The man turned and headed back down the dock, whisting a stilted tune.

Cary and I exchanged a look. His gaze answered mine and reluctantly, I call after the man. He turned with a smile.

"Sir, I was wondering if you might be obliged to help us out of the port?" I said. My dignity was taking a hit, for I really thought I'd be able to sail with no prior experience.

The gentleman laughed an walked back to us. He came aboard with a hearty yell and said, "Thought ye'd never ask! O' course, there is the matter o' payment," he went on, rubbing his forefinger and thumb together. I exchanged a look with Cary who nodded.

"When we get to France, you can have the _Feronia_," I said. It hurt me to part with the pretty little sloop, but I wanted to make haste to open sea. I knew Annesly would be on our trail before long. He was probably cursing the day he'd told me about my father's ships docked at Morcambe.

The man's face positively lit up at my offer. He reached forward and pumped my hand and then Cary's, "Sound's good to me, gents, very good!"

That settled, the man began to guide us to the proper way of preparing the cutter and soon, we were piloting her out of the bay and toward the sea. I'd never felt more alive.

Over the next few days, I learned that the man was named Joshamee Gibbs. He had been engaged to a young woman who's father didn't like him and had enlisted him in the Royal Navy. In his own words, Gibbs' had said, "It ain't Navyin' that bothers me, lads, it spendin' all that time alone with all them men an' no women in sight! It ain't natural, it ain't!" Cary and I also told him our stories.

Within the week, Gibbs had navigated us around the southern tip of England and into a port just north of Brest, France.

Gibbs pumped my hand on the dock, "Jack Sperrit, I'll never forget ye, never. Good luck yas both! Say 'ello to yer mother fer me!"

With what little money we had left, Cary and I found ourselves some real food and a stage to Paris. The trip was going to take the whole day and would not leave until the morning. So, we wandered the streets of the village, arm in arm, drunk on freedom and cheap wine. We wound up under a tree, trading our dreams for the future.

"I think I'd like to sail the world, Jaques. Be a trader so I can see it all. After our little voyage, I don't think I can live on dry land again," Cary's speech was slurred, but his eyes were vibrant with truth. I nodded somberly.

"I know, Cary. I think after I see my mother, we should try our hands at the sea. I mean, Gibbs taught us a lot. We could be useful to someone. Maybe one day I'll be a great admiral. You can be my first mate."

He swatted my arm, "No, Jack, I shall be Admiral."

"Don't call me Jack, mate, or I'll have yer guts fer garters" I replied imitating Gibbs. We went on like that until morning.

The journey to Paris was horrid. The road was uneven to say the least and this carriage wasn't as fine as the one I'd traveled to Calais in. We didn't have the fare to travel inside the carriage, so we rode on the back. Each time the coach hit a rut (which was often) we nearly tumbled out. There was no sleeping, and our hangovers were a hell all their own.

When we finally arrived in Paris, it was raining. "This is your beautiful Paris?" Cary quipped and we slid through the muck and mire to the rue Saint-Honoré.

The door leading to my mother's garret swung open as I raised my first to knock, but this wasn't unusual. As we ascended the steps, I noticed an eerie calm that one didn't normally encounter in the busy boardinghouse. I was beginning to worry, but the thought of seeing my mother overshadowed that. I rapped on the door, but to no avail. No one answered. It was too late for her to be at the Opera House, so I pushed on the door. It gave easily under my weight.

The sight I encountered made my legs give out. Cary let out a cry behind me. My cheerful little garret was a shambles. The little curtains my mother had sewn from scraps of dress fabric were torn and hanging by threads. Every other stick of furniture was gone save my mother's standing mirror. There, before the mirror sat my mother. She was dead.

The putrid stench of her rotting flesh pervaded my whole body. The combination of the stink and the liquids still roiling in my stomach made me gag and retch on the floor. Cary dropped to his knees and tried to gather me in his arms. I heard him crying. I pushed him away and he fell into a corner and slid down the wall, blubbering and sniffling.

I crawled to my mother. She was wearing the same burgundy gown I had seen her in last. It was was torn and stained. Her hair was streaked grey. She had only recently passed on, because her skin still clung to her bones. I could see her body had been ravaged before her death, however. She was leaner than I remembered and her once-beautiful cheekbones stuck out at alarming angles. It made me think of the day I had traveled to London with Charles Paulet.

I reached out and hugged the corpse to me. Her limbs were stiff. There was a small knife still clutched in her hand. Once I'd moved her,I saw the dark spot where her blood had pooled and the odor of her bodily excrement stank anew. I gagged and choked on all that was left in my belly. I screamed and wailed. I cannot recall what I said, exactly, but it was most likely gibberish. Cary tried to pull me away from her.

Once he managed to pull me away, I saw the open wound on her left wrist. The sight sent me into another round of hysterics. Cary just wrapped his arms around me and let me scream.

It felt like hours later that I had wrapped my dead mother in my jacket and left her in the garret. I could not afford a proper burial, but I could say a prayer.

Cary walked with me to the Notre Dame Cathedral. It was late, but I knew there would be a service just about to start. When we got to the cathedral, several of the parishioners wrinkled their nose at me. Indeed, I looked a fright. My hair had long since come free of the ribbon binding it. My clothes were filthy from days at sea, traveling by coach, and of course, holding my mother's rotten remains. I walked up the wide main aisle between the pews. The priest was sitting, watching me. I sank down on my knees before the likeness of Mary.

"Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and a the hour of our death. Amen. Please, Mary, take care of my mother Julie. She was the bright beacon in my life and I shall do all I can to be true to her."

I lit one candle and Cary followed suit. The whole congregation watched as we walked back down the aisle and out the door. I never entered another church for as long as I have lived.

We crossed Paris and I headed for the Opera house. I knew that someone would be there, most likely Roget. I was right.

I entered Roget's office quietly and Cary followed suit. It was as plush as ever. Apparently, the Opera had been doing well in the past year. Roget spoke, "Too late for inquiries. Come back in the morning," he began. He wrinkled his nose, "And for love of God, take a bath in the meantime."

I strode forward and picked a candlestick up from Roget's desk. He looked up, incensed, "Put it back-" he stopped talking when he saw my face. I was probably the image of the devil at that moment, with my long black hair running loose about my shoulders and my dark eyes blazing fury. I thrust candle at him and he stumbled backwards, knocking over his chair with a thump. I laughed. "Jaques! What are you doing here?"

"You let her die, Roget," I said.

Cary blocked the only door, so Roget just stood dumbly in the middle of the room, "She never came back to the Opera House, Jaques."

"And you never thought to check on her?"

"The last I heard, she was selling herself in Montemarte for morphine and wine," he spat.

"That is not the answer I was looking for," I said, my voice level. I thrust the candle at him again. He gave a small scream and jumped backwards.

"Okay, Jaques, let's go now," Cary said from behind me. I just laughed. "Jaques?" he tried again.

"Give me a minute, Cary. We'll be on our way soon," my voice carried daggers with it, the elixir or death dripped from each syllable. I had learned well from my father.

"So, you're going to kill me because your mother turned into a tramp, eh Jaques?" Roget began. He was edging back toward a low window. I wasn't going to let him escape alive. I stepped forward. He jumped back. His back was now at the window. It was open. We were two stories above ground.

"She worked hard for you and for Lully. I can't forgive you that you never went to find her."

"Come on, Jaques. You know chorus girls are as rare as drops in the Seine," Roget continued. "And Lully only promised her a real role so that she'd spread her legs to him."

I dropped the candle and the flames licked the curtain. I lunged at Roget, but he did the work for me, tumbling backwards through the window. I stuck my head out to see him bent and broken in the courtyard below. Cary pulled my back as the curtain burst into flames. The flames ate up the fine velvet and spread onto the expensive wallpaper.

I went to Roget's desk and opened all of the drawers. In the false bottom of the top drawer was the evenings take. I pocketed it and pulled an antique cutlass from the wall. Cary pulled me through the door as the flames licked at my heels.

I don't really know whether or not the Opera House sustained any real damage from that night. I've never been back to France since then. Cary and I overpaid for a pair of nags at a stable in the Latin Quarter and made our way overland as far west as Versailles before stopping to rest the horses. In Versailles, we overpaid once more for a transport north to Le Havre.

In Le Havre, I began my search for passage out of Europe. I scoured the docks for anything that was headed far South to Africa or even West to America. I was finally directed to the _Belle Soleil_.She was an French brigantine merchant ship. When we came to the large ship, her quartermaster was pacing in front of the gangplank, chewing on his knuckles.

I stepped directly in front of him and he stopped pacing to give me an angry eye. "State yer business," he barked. His cheeks were of a high color and he seemed ready for a fight.

"Sir, my mate and I were informed that you were in need of some crew," Cary began.

"And yer experience aboard ship?"

I was in a hurry, so I blurted out a lie, "He was a coxswain and I an apprenticed gunner on a merchant ship that sailed between France and Italy, sir."

The quartermaster laughed, "And did ye have much cause to use them guns, lad?"

I shook my head, "No sir. But I was always at the ready."

"Well, lads, we're bound for the Caribbean, if that be amenable. And we can't pay you until we've sold our wares there."

Cary and I nodded. I am sure the quartermaster saw through my lie, but he was as desperate to shove off as we were to leave. "Welcome to the crew, then. Get yerselves aboard," he commanded.

Cary and I exchanged a look. We would celebrate later. For now we headed us the gangplank. The quartermaster yelled to us over his shoulder, "Do you lads know much about cows?"

Cary and I shook our heads to indicate the negative. The quartermaster laughed and told us to find the boatswain so we could begin our education. We exchanged another look and set about finding the boatswain. Once we did, he gave us each a quick once over before laughing heartily. "Ye lads be the ones what the quartermaster was lookin' for?" he asked.

I nodded and he laughed again. "Okay, then, get yerselves below deck and see to the stock." With that, he went back to securing the rigging and we went below decks.

The "stock" in question was cattle. There were probably fifty of the nasty beasts below decks, munching and groaning. There was a man below decks, walking among the cattle, muttering to himself. I approached him.

"Sir, we're here to, uh, help," I began. One of the nearby cows mooed at me.

"Oh, wonderful," the man replied though the tone of his voice indicated that he did not find our presence particularly wonderful. "Well, here's what ya got to know. These is Alderney's. They're highly prized cattle for dairy farmin'. We're gonna land ourselves a big score in the Caribbean 'cause them folks ain't never seen one o' these cows before," he paused rather dramatically. Cary and I nodded dumbly, waiting patiently for the man to tell us our duties.

He patted the cow that had mooed at me, "Yes, love, I won't let them hurt you," he said. The man actually talked to the cow! Finally, he turned his attention back to us, "I'm Alphonse and I own these beauties. I see to their care. All I need for the two o' you to do is to make sure they've all got enough feed and water available. They ain't never had to journey like this before, isn't that right, dear girl?" Alphonse, of course, had turned his attention to another cow. She mooed. I guess that meant "yes" because Alphonse smiled.

He led us around the hold and showed us where to put the feed and where to get potable water. He then led us to a small, reeking corner, "This is yer new home for the next two months. Enjoy it, boys!" Alphonse laughed and retreated back among the cattle. I realized that he had not been muttering to himself when we'd first seen him. He'd been talking with the cows.

"What did we get ourselves into, Jack?" Cary asked while trying to get some of the muck out of our little corner.

"Adventure, my good man," I replied. When he looked at me skeptically, I waggled my eyebrows at him, "Adventure with cows."

Almost as soon as we'd boarded the ship, we set sail. It took us nearly fifty six days to cross the Atlantic. In those days, Cary and I grew even closer as we spent all of our waking hours with one another. The rest of the crew accepted us, teaching us slowly about the everyday workings of the ship. What I learned aboard the _Belle Soleil_ is what I've carried with me through all my years at sea. Other than that, the months were unremarkable.

However, once the admiral had sighted Barbados, things took a turn for the worse. Terrible winds pushed us so far north, we could have made berth in the Colonies. The rain lashed at the _Belle Soleil_ for days on end and it seemed that the fair weather we'd had during our crossing had been a dream. And then, the _Atropos_ found us.


	4. New Orders

The _Atropos_ was an enormous galleon, swift despite her size. She was weathered grey, as though she'd been assembled on the water. We were almost as far north as Nassau (so I later learned) when she caught up to us.

The _Belle Soleil_ was nowhere near as fine a ship as the A_tropos_, but we made a run for it. And when she was alongside us, the captain ordered us to fight.

The quartermaster had been calling orders out since we'd sighted the other ship. Finally, he shouted for us to load the guns. He spotted me on deck just then, "Go ahead, Master Jack, you're a gunner from way back when, ain't ya." He didn't laugh, but I knew if he'd had the time, he would have. I set about following orders, even though I'd never fired a cannon before.

Luckily, I never had to. Or perhaps it was unluckily. I don't really know. Once I was on the gun deck, I heard the pings of hooks cast onto our decks and then the thuds of many boots. We were too late and the other crew had boarded us.

"All crew to the deck, and hurry if you please," came a clear, crisp voice from above me. Another sailor grabbed me by the scruff of my neck and pushed me ahead of him, grumbling "You might as well say yer prayers now, lad, for this is going to be our lives."

As I ascended the steps, I took my first look at a pirate. The man stood easily a head taller than me, and I was almost six feet tall by then. He had cascades of black curls, neatly ironed and shining, flowing over his shoulders. He wore a red coat with gold buttons, a red waistcoat, black breeches, and black boots. He also had the toothiest smile I'd ever seen. His smile shone with gold and silver. If not for that, I might have mistaken him for an English officer.

"Come along, then, mates," he called out, jovially, "I haven't got all day."

"Now see here, this be my ship and I don't think you ought to be ordering around my crew!" my captain shouted, breaking from the ranks we'd formed along the deck opposite the pirate crew. He was a short, red-faced man who was usually out of breath. He did not disappoint at this moment.

"And you'll be the captain of this vessel, I'll wager," the pirate said with another bright grin. "Fantastic! If you'd be so kind as to show me the hold, I'll leave you and your crew to you business."

The taller man obviously disarmed my captain because he sputtered for a few moments before responding, "But, the contents of the hold _are_ my business!"

The pirate captain's grin disappeared and he shook his head as though he was genuinely sorry, "Well, mate, that is a problem for you. But, you see, I am a pirate. As such, I can't always going around being nice to every captain with a sad story that I meet," he tossed out his hands in a gesture of apology, "It comes down to the fact that you've got what I want, and I'm going to take it with or without your consent. You may do whatever you feel necessary, but I'd rather keep this civil, savvy?"

The smaller captain nodded his consent. He actually nodded! "Very well, then, come along, Captain," he paused, "Your name is?"

"Captain Thomas Kensington, at your service," said the pirate, executing a formal bow.

"Kensington, eh?"

"Oh yes, do tell your friends! They'll find it a lovely story. Now, come along, I'm afraid I'm rather in a hurry," Kensington said, making for the stairs to go below decks. He walked right towards me. I leapt of his way, "Watch yourself, young man, you might find yourself in the sea," he remarked to me with a grin. Before going below decks, he ordered his crew to return to the ship and make ready to haul the plunder.

Once Kensington was below decks, Cary crept up beside me. I'd completely forgotten about him. My face colored, but he didn't notice. "Do you think we'll get away with our lives? Or do you think he'll press gang us?" Cary whispered.

I nodded yes.

"Well?" Cary hissed, "Which is it?"

I shrugged. I didn't want to die, but suddenly, the thought of sailing with Kensington seemed appealing. Cary did not appear to share the sentiment, so I held mum.

Kensington's head reappeared shortly after he'd descended. He looked disturbed. He called over to his crew, "It's bloody cattle, mates! Not a speck of shine anywhere! Bloody French! Cows!" He tossed his mane of curls in much the same manner I'd seen my mother do when she was annoyed. He turned back to face the captain, who looked pleased.

Kensington spoke with an exasperated air, "Well, mate, you can keep the damned cows, but I am making this trip worth my while." He eyes the crew. We'd never moved, save for Cary.

He began at the end farthest from me. I felt my stomach drop. He'd have made his choices long before he'd come to me. And what would he need with some green young sailor anyway?

But, he surprised me. He didn't choose any of the larger, more formidable looking men at the beginning of the line. He chose an older sailor who stood two men to the right known simply as Cotton And, then he came to Cary and I at the end of the line.

"Ah, the boy who jumped out of my way," Kensington said. He backed up and gave me a thorough once over, "And I thought I made myself seem so friendly." He tapped his finger against his lips thoughtfully. "Well, mate, d'you think you'd like a pirate's life?"

"Aye, Captain," I began. I saw Cary's jaw drop out the corner of my eye, "But, only if my mate can join us."

"Oh, conditions have you? Well, you're both young and probably unspoiled by the easy labor aboard merchant ships," Kensington paused and seemed to mull it over, "I guess I can take two. Come aboard, my good gents. And, a thanks to you, Captain," he finished doffing his tri-corn in the direction of my former captain.

We leapt the short distance between the two ships and I found myself transported, as if to another world entirely. Where aboard the _Belle_, Cary and I had spent hours mopping and scrubbing and painting the decks when we weren't amongst the cows, the _Atropos_ looked as though she'd never been polished. The sails looked torn and tattered, but I knew they must have held wind for the ease with which the ship had caught us. Not only that, but she seemed twice as wide as the _Belle_, as far across as I remember the stage at the Opera House to have been. It didn't seem possible that a ship could be that wide.

Despite all of these thoughts, my heart swelled. I felt at home aboard this ship. It was the same kinship I'd felt for the _Tempest_. It was hard to believe that my first journey aboard ship had only been a year ago. My thoughts were soon disturbed by Cary. He elbowed me in the ribs. Hard.

"Jack! I can't believe you! I don't want to be a pirate!" he railed, though his voice was low. "Do you ever consider anyone except yourself?"

I never got the chance to answer, for Kensington's crisp voice called out from the doorway to his cabin, "Mister Bailley, set our heading for, oh," he paused and tapped his finger against his lips as he'd done earlier. "Oh, I don't know. Perhaps I feel like Tortuga? I think we need to freshen up and find a new direction, eh mate?"

A tall, bald man stuck his head over the railing of the quarterdeck. He was missing his left eye and a long vertical scar sealed up the orifice. He winked with his good eye at me. "Aye, aye, Cap'n Kensington. You 'eard the Cap'n, lads, bow to starboard and let's run her at full mast, eh? I hope to be in the arms of some pretty young thing before morning!"

"Aye," came the crew's response. We were headed south. Before we could join them, the captain called out again. This time the summons was for Cary, myself, and Cotton.

Once we were in the room, I again marveled at it's size. The ceilings seemed to vault up eight feet and the transom seemed to be ten feet away. I knew it was impossible, but it felt real. I shook my head to clear whatever was causing these illusions, but the room stayed the same size. I tried to ignore it and focus on the captain.

Kensington grasped Cotton by the hand and shook it warmly, "Welcome back, Nathaniel! I knew you'd find your way back to the fold, old chap!"

"Right, cap'n. I just hopped the first rig bound for the Caribbean and I knew you'd find me!" Cotton answered, "I'll be out to deck and help the hands now, if you'll pardon." Cotton nodded gleefully at us on the way past. My eyes bulged. Cotton had actually been looking for Kensington?

Kensington turned his attention to us. I could tell Cary was scowling at the pirate, so I elbowed him. I didn't want the captain to think us rude.

"Ah, young sir, it's all right. I see he doesn't want to sail under Old Roger. Many men don't," Kensington began,leaning back to sit against the large, oaken desk. "But, it's a choice. Perhaps you'll learn to love the _Atropos _as I do." Cary sorted in derision, but Kensington retained his bemused expression, "What are your names, then, lads?"

I spoke first, "Jaques Sperrit, sir!"

Kensington looked the slightest bit put out, "A Frenchman, then? Blast it." He grinned at me, though before turning his gaze on Cary.

"Cary Annesly," he replied, sharply.

Kensington roared laughter, "A Scot, too! Well, I'll be dipped in tar if I haven't picked up the hottest blood in all the Atlantic. This should be amusing." He moved to sit at the desk and picked up a sextant and began to peruse a large map.

Cary and I stood, staring frankly at the captain. He felt our gaze and looked up. "Yes?"

"Orders, Captain Kensington," Cary made the question I had been wondering into a demand. The captain laughed, again.

"Right!" he exclaimed, as though excited by the idea, "Right you are! Well, uh, Mister Annesly, would you be so inclined to find my mate, Bailley. He's the big fellow with the missing eye. I'm sure he'll give you something to do."

Cary nodded curtly and exited. He threw me a withering glance before he departed. I was unaffected as I waited with baited breath for the captain's orders.

He turned his gaze on on me. "Well, now, young Sperrit. You look like a man of intellect. A man of talent, I daresay. Perhaps you can assist me with the navigation?"

I nodded and answered enthusiastically, "Of course, Captain!" But, then, the realization that I had no navigational experience dawned on me and I told the captain as much.

"Well, it's about time you learned then. I see great things in your future. Yes, great indeed!" Kensington gestured for me to come closer and he spent the rest of the day and the evening, explaining the charts, maps, and tools as well as the sun's affect on navigation, the moon's on the tides, and the stars uses at night.

I was spellbound. I felt as though I was writing every word he said into my very being. He was so full of youthful vitality and good humor, the lines of captain and crew blurred and soon I was laughing alongside him as though an old friend. Finally, he said to me, "We are near Tortuga. I am going to stay aboard as I have work that must be done." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a mix of silver and copper coins and placed them in front of me,

I drew back, stunned. "I can't take this, Captain. I've not earned it," I said. I was slightly afraid that I would upset him, but he smiled kindly at me and patted my arm.

"Take it, Jaques. You and your mate have fun on Tortuga tonight. And, though you didn't earn it from me, it is certainly what your former captain owed you."

I sat quiet a moment and pondered the money in front of me. The silver and gold all bore French emblems. "You mean-?" I began without finishing my thought. I knew my suspicion was right when the captain smiled.

Kensington replied with a wink, "No pirate ever leaves another ship empty handed." He looked back to the charts and I knew I had been dismissed.

I went out onto the deck and found Cary busily tying off a line to the foremast. Behind him, I saw a brightly lit port come into view. Kensington had been right. I helped him, wordlessly, not even minding when he shoved me roughly out his way so that he could secure the sail. When we were finally in port, he made a move to pass me and go to the gangway alone. I held his arm fast.

"Cary, please," I began. He looked away from me and wrenched his arm from my grasp. But, he stayed. I continued, "Please, let's not fight. He would have taken you, anyway, for you're strong of arm and back. Young merchants don't stand a chance against a pirate's will, besides."

Cary finally looked back at me, the rigidity in him slipping away. He looked rather sad, just then. Like a young boy. He spoke before I could apologize again.

"Jaques, you don't understand. I only followed you so that I could persuade you to stay. You wouldn't hear reason in Morcambe so I followed you onto the _Feronia._ And, from there, I've been unable to slow you down for even a minute."

I grew suddenly angry and snapped at him, "And when you said you'd never be able to live on land again, was that some ploy to get me back to England? It was a rather ridiculous tactic, you know, as I am prone to believing what you say as the truth."

Cary looked at his boots, "I was caught up in the moment, there. But, after we found -"

I cut him off. "Don't say it," My voice was dangerous, then. I startled even myself. But, Cary seemed undisturbed. He did stop speaking and just stared at me. I continued, my voice quiet, "And when we boarded the merchant ship? Was that an accident?"

"I couldn't stop you, Jaques! No one could have! You were a man possessed!" Cary answered. I knew he was right. "And, so, when we were sailing, I figured we'd just return to France after we sold the cattle. I thought by then you'd have settled down and could resume your place at my father's right hand."

"Well, I'm sure Kensington will allow you to stay ashore. Perhaps you can earn passage back to England with this," I pressed the coins into his hands and turned toward the stairs to take me below decks.

"Wait, Jaques!" I stopped, but didn't turn around, "I can't go without you."

I shrugged, "Well, then I suppose a pirate's life is yours."


	5. Jaques' Undoing

Over the next few months, Cary and I spoke very little. It didn't bother me as much as it should have, as I spent much of my time with the Captain. Kensington taught me very valuable lessons about romance and life via his lesson's on sailing ("Any ship will respond to you as a lover would if you play on her weaknesses and strengths"), navigation ("A compass is a fool's tool. The only true compass is your heart") and pirating ("It's easier if one has had some rum").

During the day, the Captain worked, sang, drank, and ate alongside us merrily. The only time I didn't see him was when he went to his cabin to sleep at night. He was strict about my never accompanying him beyond his door after the sun had set. Indeed, no one, save Bailley, was permitted to breech that barrier until sun up. And, as Bailley put it, it was only in dire circumstances that that was done.

My nights were filled with rousing dances and songs and plenty of the local rum. When we were at port, plenty of whores made their presence known to me, but I never quite had the guts to take one to bed. Of course, the crew made plenty of jokes at my expense. I learned to take their ribbing as a sign of kinship, and also learned to give as good as I got.

Along with the evening's drinking, there usually came a few good pirate stories. Most of them came from Cotton. I'd never heard him speak on board the _Belle_, but the _Atropos _certainly changed that. Once one started talking to the man, it took a good deal of rum to shut him up.

My favorite story was that of a ship called the _Black Pearl_. Cotton told me that a legendary pirate with no name had sailed her and she was the most fearsome ship in the Caribbean. She was sleek, fast, and ran black sails beneath the Roger. No one could keep up with her, nor could they beat her once her guns were loaded. Cotton also told me that the captain of the _Black Pearl_ had lost his mind, and drunk on the power of nearly owning the Caribbean waters, he sank her and sold his soul to the very devil to keep her on the bottom of the sea. But, Cotton assured me, the _Pearl_ was waiting for a captain and would one day rise again as a phoenix and take over the sea again.

Bailley had laughed at the story, "Come on, Cotton, don't fill the lad's head with that rubbish! Someone had ought to cut out your tongue for all the wrong wagging it does!" The crew had laughed, but I was taken in by the tale of the _Black Pearl._

Cary, of course, would have nothing to do with the lot of us. He worked alongside us, just as hard if not harder than most of the crew. He showed Bailley respect (I expect because of his vicious-looking scar), but saved none for the rest of the crew. Everyone mostly ignored him and let him fade into the background, and soon, I did the same.

Many months passed without one word going between us. Finally, on one scorching hot day in the Caribbean, he spoke to me. "Happy Birthday, Jack," came a croak. I looked around and finally saw him standing near the bulwark on the port side. I gasped.

Cary had all but faded away. He was grey and lifeless looking, a shadow the handsome charm he'd formally exuded. I could practically see straight through him. I told him as much, wincing only slightly at my haughty tone of voice.

"You should take a look in the mirror, yourself, Jack" Cary croaked. "You are becoming more like the Captain with each passing day."

I looked down at myself. I knew he was right, but I never fully realized it. I was wearing a black coat over a grey waistcoat, black breeches, and black boots. My black hair had grown so long, it flowed to the middle of my back. It did not curl, naturally, so I had taken to twisting it into locks. I had also grown fond of Kohl and often lined my eyes with the black pencil to make myself look more fearsome. I wore a tri-corn as well, and a cutlass at my side. Still, it was not remarkable dress for a pirate. "Cary, jealousy does not become you."

His laugh came a wheeze. I curled my lip in distaste and walked away from him. I was shaken by his remark though. It had been two years since I'd left England. My birthday. I was seventeen. Another crewman, Pell, happened had overheard me. "Who are you talking to, Sperrit?" he looked around and spied Cary, "Oh, that. Well, never mind. Look, some of the crew are going rowing into port this afternoon ahead of the ship with the captain's leave. He suggested we invite you. How about it?"

I nodded in agreement. I was still struck by Cary's words. I had all but forgotten him. I felt a slight hint of shame. But it was gone as soon as Pell informed me that Kensington wanted to see me before we left. I grinned and strode to his cabin.

I was overwhelmed by what I found there. A great feast had been laid out on a long dining table. Benches lined each side and twenty plates gleamed at each place. I had never seen anything so luxurious, aside from sets at the Opera. Of course, I had learned to expect the unexpected aboard this ship. Though, it never ceased to amaze me when I might find next.

"Jaques, my boy! Welcome! Why is that I had to find out about your birthday secondhand, eh?" Kensington said, making a grand gesture with his arms to encompass the room.

I was stunned. But, then, I should know that the Captain hears everything that goes on on the _Atropos_. "Come along, then my boy," he said merrily leading me toward the banquet. He seated me and called for the crew to join us. Soon, he was toasting me, "To seventeen, Jaques, and to the horizons ahead of you!"

"Aye! To Jaques!" came the crew's reply. And then there was general pandemonium and we dug into the food before us.

Once we had dined, the crew left us and went back on deck. I could see through the huge windows in the stern that the sun was sinking into the ocean. "Thank you, Captain Kensington," I said, rising to head toward the door.

"Wait, Jaques," he stooped me, rising from his place. I'd never been in his presence this late in the day. He was beginning to look very weary. He reached into his coat and withdrew a coin. He flipped it to me and I caught it deftly in my right hand. In my palm laid an uneven circle of gold. It bore a cross on one side and pentacle on the other. I looked up at the Captain.

"May it bring you the luck it's always shown me, young Jaques, now go! Have a good time at port for me, okay!" I smiled and nodded and went out to obey the Captain's orders.

The next morning, Cotton shook me awake from my hammock on the gun deck. "Jaques! Get up!" I opened my eyes. My head still swam from the rum and antics of the night before. I held down an urge to vomit and looked at Cotton.

"What is it? It's not even my watch yet, ya dog!" I tried to roll over, but Cotton shook me again.

"It's yer mate, Jaques. He's gone overboard."

"Cary?" I sat up, wincing at the pain that flashed through my skull and blinking fiercely to clear my vision. "Why?"

"It be mermaids, lad," he answered

I laid back down, relieved. "Oh, okay, Cotton. Sure. Mermaids. That's nice. Wake me when it's time for the forenoon watch."

He pulled me back up by my lapels. "I'm not foolin' ya, Jaques. Come on."

I stood and followed him, resigned to let the crew have their little birthday joke so I could get some rest. Cotton led me above deck, and rather than the crew standing there, waiting to wiggle their willies at me or some such thing, I saw Bailley and Pell looking over the port side at the same spot I'd had my chat with Cary the day before.

I joined them and looked into the sea. And I gasped. There was Cary, restored to his former substantial appearance, floating just below the surface in a gold ball. His eyes were closed and his lips were blue. I was flooded with the memory of our friendship and I knew I had to get to him.

I pulled off my boots and thrust my jacket at Cotton. I climbed onto the bulwark and dove in, despite the crews pleas and advice to the contrary. I found Cary easily in the dark water, as he seemed to emit some sort of light from inside the orb. When I swam closer, I could see it was from the area of his heart that the light shone. I reached out to touch the orb and it was suddenly pulled from my grasp.

A horrible green thing with flame orange hair swam in front of me, blocking me from Cary. It had a woman's face and upper body, but a long silver fish tail. She spoke sharply to me and I had to cover my ears because the sound drilled straight through me. I moved to swim past her and saw that there were about seven of the things there and they were pulling Cary further down. The light was fading and I kicked hard to make for him. However, a strong scaly hand closed over my forearm and dragged me up to the surface.

My lungs labored to take in air and I saw that the hand belonged the horrid thing that had swum in front of me before. Except, above the water, her skin was fair and her hair was blonde. She spoke, and her voice was soothing, unlike it had been below the surface.

"I have given you one chance. Do not come after him again. You did not love him, Jaques Sperrit, he told me so himself. We shall save him from your cruel mastery," it said. I was transfixed by her beauty and the lyrical quality of her voice, but I felt the full force of her words. As she dipped below the surface, I took a breath and was about to follow her, when strong hands grasped my shoulders from above.

Bailley hauled me up and held me against my struggling. "Cotton, tell him," he commanded.

Cotton leveled a gaze at me and spoke with a gravity I'd never heard from him before, "Jaques, this is no big fish story, I can promise ya that. Yer mate is doomed to the mermaids. Once a man makes the journey to their lair in the deep, he never comes back."

I shrugged Bailley off and looked at Cotton, then at Bailley and Pell, "What is going on here? What is all this about lairs and doom? We need to go after Cary! He was," I stopped and took a deep breath, "is my best friend! And my only family."

Cotton shook his head, "I'm sorry, lad. He must have made a pact with a mermaid. They take unwitting men from ships to become their husbands. One man serves all of the mermaids in a lair."

I grinned then, "Well, that doesn't sound half bad, actually. Maybe I should make that trip and relieve Cary of his burden," I made for the starboard side, but the next words Cotton spoke stayed me.

"After they've done with him, they eat him."

I swallowed hard and sunk to my knees on the deck. It was not since finding my mother in our garret that I'd felt this helpless.

It was then that I head Kensington call for Bailley. The sun had yet to rise, so the crew on deck fell silent. This was almost unprecedented. Bailley looked at me, then made for the cabin door.

We all waited with baited breath. Finally, Bailley reemerged. He was fine, save for the pallor of his skin, which had paled considerably. He spoke after a long beat. "Cap'n wants us to make a heading for The River."

I began to protest, "But, Cary! He needs our help! I know we can help him!"

Bailley silenced me with a hard look. "Weigh anchor, Sperrit."

I jumped to the duty. I knew better than to ask twice.

It took us nigh into the afternoon to drop anchor off of small island to the south of where we'd last seen Cary. By my best guess, I'd say we were off the coast of Martinique, but I couldn't be certain. Kensington had not appeared on deck until almost ten o'clock. He said nothing to me, only stopping to pat my shoulder as he passed me.

After we'd made anchor, Pell, Bailley, Cotton, Kensington and I boarded the longboat and made for the shore. Once were closer, I could see that there was a narrow river that flowed into the sea. Pell and Cotton rowed us into us and upriver. Soon, we were so thick into the trees, it seemed almost nighttime. There was exotic flora and fauna all around, the likes of which I'd never seen on any island in the Caribbean before today. Every once in a while, we heard chants and cries in some foreign tongue coming from deeper in the jungle. The place made me shiver, though it was hot and humid.

Finally, Cotton and Pell stopped rowing and we drifted up to a short plank dock. I helped them tie off and we disembarked. Above me, I saw a hut. I jumped back, startled that I hadn't noticed it until just now, for it was rather a large structure, built right into a thick tree. Kensington laid his hand upon my arm and urged me ahead. For each step I took, the dock seemed to leap up to meet my feet out of the inky water. I blinked hard and shook my head, but like my vision inside the Captain's cabin, it didn't fade away. We made out way to a short rope ladder and Kensington stopped me when I laid my hand on the lowest rung I could reach.

"None of us can yet come with you. You must meet with Her alone first. She'll let us know when to come up," the Captain said, his tone somber. But, as always, he smiled at me, "Don't fear Her, Jaques."

I nodded and climbed the ladder. I'd never not trusted the Captain and didn't want to start right then. In several places, the rope ladder was worn and in need of mending and it others yet, it looked freshly repaired or new. Finally, I rapped my head against something hard. It was the floor of the hut. When I looked down, it seemed I'd only climbed about twenty feet. I felt like I'd climbed for hours.

I rapped hard on the wooden door above me and heard an ethereal female voice drift down to me, "Come in, Jack Sparrow."


	6. Cary's Solo Journey

I opened the door above me and pulled myself up into the hut. The room I found myself in was dimly lit by a few flickering candles, mostly melted so that the flames danced on the wet wax. There was a large pedestal table in the center of the room, covered in strange artifacts and deep burn marks. There were several jars hanging from the low ceiling, so many in fact, that I had keep ducking or stepping around them to find a comfortable spot to stand. But, nowhere did I see the root of that enchanting voice.

But, Her voice came again, from the dark recesses at the rear of the hut "Ah, Jack Sparrow, I knew you would come to me sooner or later." Her voice was low, but strong. It felt curvaceous as it caressed me, like the way a young woman feels when she presses herself against my back.

I answered Her, "I'm sorry, madame, but I'm Jaques Sperrit. I've just come about my friend. He's been -"

She stepped out of the shadows before I could complete my speech. Before me stood a tiny old woman, probably around five feet tall, but as thin as a rail. She looked delicate and she tread so lightly on the floorboards, they didn't creak as they did under my boots. Her dark skin was weathered and wrinkled, but I could see she had lovely features. Once, she must have been a great beauty. She wore a long, flowing set of skirts in violets and blues and had wrapped her torso in some sort of black material. She had the same material wrapped around her hair. She approached me and looked up into my eyes. I searched hers.

"I know why you tink you come to me, Jack Sparrow. And I know who you tink you are. But, do you really know why you're in Tia Corinnina's home? Or who you really are?"

I shook my head, "No. I-"

She laid a hand on my arm and pulled me closer to the table, cutting off my words again. She was surprisingly strong and her touch warmed my clammy skin. Memories danced through my head: my mother lifting me and twirling me on the stage at the Opera, my journey across the English Channel on the _Tempest, _racing on horseback with Cary at my side. I felt warmed to my very center. I was giddy with the good feelings this woman's touch brought me. When she broke contact, I felt chilled, but I was still calm and glad.

Tia Corinnina moved around the table and sat in a high-backed chair. Her eyes fell closed. I knew better than to speak. She let her hands wander over the deep burns on the table, into and over it's many scars. I watched as a pattern formed beneath her long, surprisingly smooth fingers. Finally, her eyes snapped open and she rolled her shoulders.

"You do not have dose answers because it is not time for you to know dem. Right now, you must make peace wit your friend," she began. She patted me arm and a giddy shiver ran down my back. I longed to hold her so I could fell warm and happy again. Somehow, I knew it wouldn't be allowed.

"Come up, Cap'n Kensington," she called and I heard the door swing open again. Soon, the room was filled with the crew that had come with me. I felt a little pang of jealousy as I'd wanted more time alone with the Tia Corinnina. But, I shook it off, immediately, knowing Kensington probably had more right to be here than I did.

The woman patted Kensington's arm and he smiled down at her, "Ah, my darling, you look more beautiful than even the day I met you!"

She swatted his arm and gave him a grin, "Oh, you shouldn't drop such compliments at my feet,Cap'n. You might turn my head." She laughed and the warm sound filled the room and made my insides melt. She disappeared into the shadows and I heard her moving things around and mumbling to herself. She reappeared soon enough with a glass vial that contained a glowing amber liquid.

She placed it in my hand and closed my fingers over it. It felt cold there and I shuddered.

"Now, Jack Sparrow, listen to Tia Corinnina carefully. You must drink this before you dive into da sea to find your friend. It will last only for two hours. You will not need to take air once you've swallowed it, but it will wear off and if you are not back to the surface, you will drown."

I nodded and looked the bottle again. It gave off the same eerie glow that Cary had beneath the sea. Tia Corinnina spoke again, "You will not be able to save your friend. Once a mermaid has taken him, he is surely dead. But, you must make peace wit him." I nodded. I was sure I could save him, but I didn't want to say so before Her. She smiled up at me, knowingly, "Don't do not'ing foolish, you hear me chil'? An' when you are done, you come back to me. Den you shall hear of your destiny." I nodded again, eager to be back in the sea. "Now go! Before the sun sets, you can dive into any part o' dat sea and you will find the mermaid lair. If you should wait 'til after the sun has set, you mus' find the spot where dey took him. Don't wait!"

Kensington placed his hand on my arm and we descended the rope ladder to our longboat. I didn't have to speak my urgency and Cotton and Pell rowed with renewed vigor. We were back to the sea just as the first star was visible in the east. I took off my boots and my coat. I gulped down the vial and just as I was about to jump out the longboat, Kensington wished me luck. I smiled at him, "I won't need it Captain."

I was long underwater by the time the crew and Captain Kensington doffed their hats and placed them over their hearts. For one lesson I'd never learned is that one should never refuse luck.

Once I was submerged, I felt lighter than I'd ever felt in the water. I could see better and the fish didn't even swim away from me. I found I could open my mouth and I didn't take in any water. When I looked down at my hands, I saw that webbing had bridged the gaps between my fingers. I could swim very fast. I felt something trickle down my neck and when I reach up to touch it, I felt narrow slits open and close there. I had grown gills!

However, I had no idea where to find the mermaid's lair. So, I just swam down. I knew when we'd reached the river mouth that the water should have been shallow, but it wasn't. I just swam ever deeper. When I looked above me, all I saw was black ocean and soon enough, I found myself swimming towards an underwater city.

Rising up from the floor of the ocean was a great tower of hard-looking red coral. Around the tower stood several smaller structures made of other types of coral, rocks, seashells, and waving green kelp. Mermaids swam to and fro, many stopping to stare lasciviously at me as I swam through the underwater corridors between the lower buildings. They all looked like the first mermaid I'd seen the night before: green and scaly, with flowing orange hair. I avoided their gazes and swam for the tower. I knew that's where Cary would be.

I swam into the entrance of the tower, past several more mermaids. Many of them were decorating themselves with bits of shell as jewelry and kelp and anemones for their hair. None of them tried to stop me. This should have disturbed me, but I was too eager to find Cary to notice.

I found him quickly, as he was in a large room that seemed to be the center of castle. He was still in the orb, but the light that had been so bright the night before had dulled. His eyes were no longer closed however, and his mouth was pink again. However, his clothes had been removed and I could see that his skin had begun to grow patches of scales.

I swam before him and it seemed a long moment before he looked at me and when he finally did, he was surprised. "Jaques?" he asked. He shook his head as if to clear it and blinked his eyes several times. "What are you doing here?" I could hear him perfectly through whatever the gold sphere was made of.

I was afraid that I would not be able to speak, but my voice was my own when I opened my mouth. "We're leaving. Can you get out of there?"

He backed away from me into the far side of the orb and shook his head. "Not a chance. The mermaids have made me their king."

"Yes, right, well they're going to eat you once they've had their way," I searched the orb for an opening or a crack, but in vain. "Help me look!"

He just shook his head again, "I told you I'd never live on land again, Jaques. And now, you've seen to it that I was right."

"Don't be crazy, Cary. You can just come with me and you can sail home to England. Hell, I'll even pay your passage," I said as I began to search around for something to beat the floating ball with, but again came up empty handed. I was sorely bemoaning the fact that I'd left my cutlass with Kensington.

Cary reached through the orb and grasped my arm. I looked down. Where his arm had exited the sphere, the flesh was melting back as the seconds ticked by. Soon, his bones were exposed and it began to flake away as well. I knew that if I took him out of the orb, he would die. Just as surely, I knew if I swam to safety, he would die. He pulled his arm back in and instantly, it regenerated. Cary just stared silently at me.

I pressed my palms into my eyes, willing the image of his dead arm away from my memory. It clung there, no matter how hard I tried. "Forgive me, Cary."

"Leave me, Jack. You condemned me to death the moment we mounted our horses at the manor. At least allow me one last bit of pleasure at the hands of the mermaids," came the reply. I lowered my hands and started at him. I knew I wasn't worth his forgiveness.

"I'm sorry, Cary. You are like my brother, my best friend. I'm -," I broke off. I swallowed another apology, knowing it was too late.

"Go, Jack. One day we'll meet again," Cary said, his voice a bit softer than it had been. I nodded, turn and swam away. In my wake, I heard the mermaid's laughter.

I shot up through the water, but I knew I'd already tarried too long. My gills were fading and my lungs were going to want air. I didn't stop to look at my hands, but I knew the webbing was disappearing. I kicked harder. Finally, my head broke the surface and I gulped in breath. I slipped under, but I was too tired to kick. My last thought as I lost consciousness was of Cary's boyish laughter from our past and the haunting laughter of the mermaids that had chased me to the surface.

"He's openin' his eyes, mama!" came a girlish squeal from above me. I felt a torturous pain bolt through my brain, but I did open my eyes. I tried to sit up, but whoever had spoken held me back, "Hush, now, Jack Sparrow, you're safe wit' me. Come, mama, come see!" she called out. Her voice, so like Tia Corinnina's, sounded like a screeching cat to me at that moment. I closed my eyes, once more, but did not sleep.

Then came Tia Corinnina's voice, "Oh, chil', you done good! Now, fetch me some Elixir of Vitality. I have a feeling the young cap'n will be of a need." I felt her warm hands touch me forehead and the pain was gone. I was able to sit up. Tia Corinnina was with me, smiling kindly. "You waited too long, Jack. But, my daughter done brought you back."

"Was I -?" I began.

"Not for very long, chil'. Don't worry yourself. It happens to most men in your particular line of work," she said with a wink. "Lucky for you, your body is hale and healt'y."

I nodded. Suddenly a young beauty filled up my vision and captured my attention away from Tia Corinnina. She blushed under my steady gaze.

"Oh, Jack, please meet my daughter, Dalma. She did most of your caretakin', as I wanted her to learn," the older lady said.

Dalma dipped into a low curtsy. I nodded my head. I know a blush had crept over my features. I'd never encountered such a beautiful creature anywhere in Caribbean or abroad. She was dressed in a ball gown, though old and moldering, it nipped her perfectly at the waist and displayed her fine curves. The low neckline of the gown displayed her long neck, flawless shoulders and perfectly round breasts. Her skin was the same shade as her mother's but it was smooth and supple and slightly pink. Her lips were painted dark and her chocolate brown eyes were lined with Kohl. Her light brown locks flowed freely and were twisted the same as I had done mine.

Suddenly, I was grateful for my mother's insistence on a gentleman's manners even for a boy with no real prospects. I bent low at the waist and kissed her delicate hand. "Mademoiselle, it is my pleasure."

The girl smiled down at me and nodded her head, "Mademoiselle, is it, Jack Sparrow? I tink I like dat very much. Very much, indeed." She giggled and I released her hand.

Tia Corinnina cleared her throat and spoke, "Well, Dalma, I must go out. Ameerah is havin' her firs' babe and I need to be der before da birtin' begins. I tink you an' Jack can discuss payment, eh?"

Dalma nodded. Tia Corinnina looked at me and smiled. "The Cap'n will be along tomorrow to collect you," she began and then gave a long pause, "I know I shall never see you again, Jack. An' the stars, dey tol' me not to reveal your destiny jus' yet. But, you'll be back here, I know. I know." She took my hands in hers and kissed them. And, just like that, she was out the door and down the ladder. I turned back to Dalma.

"Payment?" I asked, sitting back on the table. "What payment do you require?"

Dalma smiled at me. Her smile was slow and sensual, and much like her mother's voice had given me gooseflesh, Dalma's smile did the same, "Treasure, Jack. Dat's all any woman wants."

I smiled at her, relieved, "Well, love, if it's treasure you want, treasure you shall have. How long do I have to procure said trinkets?"

"No, Jack, s'not trinkets I want. I want _your _treasure," she stepped closer to me and held out a bottle of amber liquid. I took it and smelled it. "Rum?"

"Aye, the Elixir of Vitality," she bridged the gap between us with one last step. She ran her hands down my shirtfront and across my abdomen. I shivered and took a swallow of the strong liquid. Vitality, indeed.

"My treasure, eh? Who's to say it hasn't already been taken?" I asked, feeling only slightly incensed. After all, a gorgeous woman was now standing between my legs.

"A woman knows, Jack," she said, looking up at me from under her long, dark eyelashes. I ran my hands over her collarbone and shoulders, and down her arms until I landed them on her small waist. I knew she was not wearing a corset. She leaned up as I leaned down and she possessed me with her kiss. It was short and sweet, but it utterly took my breath away.

"Oh, does she?" I gulped. She was right, of course. I had never taken a woman to my bed. I'd been tempted on so many occasions, but something always held me back. Cary had done so before I'd even arrived in England, so all I knew, I knew secondhand. Luckily, Dalma seemed prepared for this. She took my hand and wordlessly led me into the dark part of the hut.

Around a few low cases of jars holding various oddities and some boxes, Dalma had made a sort of nest. There were a few soft looking blankets and low, flickering candles. She led me to her makeshift bed and pulled me down to sit with her. She explored my face with her fine-boned fingers, running them along my cheekbones, my jaw, and down my neck to my collarbone. She followed the same path with her lips, dropping kisses here and there, leaving my skin tingling for more. She parted my shirtfront and pushed it off of my shoulders.

I reached behind her and found the row of buttons to her gown and swiftly freed her from the garment. Her dress fell away to reveal flawless mocha skin, showcased in the candlelight. A sigh escaped my lips and before I could speak, she captured my mouth with hers.

She wrapped herself around me and loved me. It was unlike anything I'd known before. The more she explored, tormented, and teased me, the more I wanted. When I finally tumbled her beneath me, I explored every inch of her, finding what spots made her cry out and exploiting them until she pushed my hands away and pulled me into her. Ecstasy came hard, fast, and delicious.

As I wrapped my arms around her and we drifted off to sleep, I knew Jaques Sperrit was gone for good.


	7. A Portentious Encounter

The following morning, I awoke feeling better than I had in months. I looked to my left and found Dalma still curled against me. She was wrapped under a thin blanket that gripped her slender curves beautifully. I dipped my head to kiss her cheek and she woke at my touch.

"Ah, Jack. Good mornin'," she said, sleepily.

"A good morning indeed, love," I bent to kiss her mouth and she pushed me away.

"No, Jack, we must talk," she said, sitting up and holding the sheet over her.

I frowned. Nothing good ever came of talking, and I told her as much. She laughed at me.

"No, Jack, don't worry now," she began, tracing my jawline with her long index finger. I shivered at her touch. While her mother's caress made me feel warm and calm, Dalma's sizzled against my skin and it sent jolts to the pit of my stomach and points south. I grasped her hand and stroked her fingers as she spoke.

"You have much sadness about you," she began.

I looked down at her small hand in my large one and grinned, "No, my pet, I am the happiest man who ever sailed these seas," I remarked. When I looked back into her eyes, I knew she couldn't be fooled. She took her hand from my grasp and laid it over my heart.

"Your heart does not lie," she said. I looked down at her hand again, my grin faded. My pulse seemed to echo through the hut, beating a tattoo of secrets, memories, and failures.

I grinned boldly up at Dalma, then. "You can help with that, love," I started, reaching to kiss her long, smooth throat. She pushed me back and stood, fully nude and glorious. My eyes devoured every bit of the fine mocha flesh I couldn't see in the shadows the night before. But I didn't have long to look, for she quickly donned her gown and left me. I heard her in the larger space beyond her little nest, rummaging around and muttering.

Finally, she returned to me just as I'd pulled on my breeches. She pulled me back down into her makeshift bed and held out her hand to me. She held perhaps a dozen beads and baubles there. She held them to her lips and blew on them before dumping them into my hand.

I looked down at the colorful baubles, confused and rather disappointed, "Beads?" I asked.

"Yes, Jack. Beads," Dalma replied, proudly. I arched my eyebrows at her and she huffed at me, "Well, dey are not jus' beads, you see. Dey are Remembrances."

"Oh, Remembrances. That, uh, makes a difference then," I answered, looking more closely at them. They still looked like beads to me.

"Dey can hold your memories, Jack!" Dalma said sharply, thoroughly incensed that I didn't understand her gift. "You hold one and call to mind a clear memory. The Remembrance will take dat memory from your mind, clean it up, and you can have it anytime you wish, just as it happened."

I plucked a red, shiny glass bead from the bunch and peered at it. I thought of the previous night, and how Dalma had felt beneath me. The bead glowed for a moment, then replayed exactly the scene I had been thinking of in my mind. It was glorious. "Well, what do you know, it works!"

Dalma shook her head at me, "Well, of course it works! And don't you waste dem on me Jack! No, you have many more memories that need polishin' up and held on to for safekeepin'."

I nodded at her, "Well, Dalma, I'd like to keep one of you for all time," I grinned at her again and she blushed. The effect was striking and I leaned forward to kiss her again. She accepted this time, but when I tried to lay her back against the blankets, she fended me off.

"No, Jack, as much as it would please me, you mus' go wit' Cap'n Kensington now," she remarks, looked a little sad. I frowned again, but stood anyway. I offered her my hand and we went to the main part of the hut.

As if on cue, a knock came from beneath the floor and Kensington's crisp voice, "Jack, are you ready yet?"

"I'm coming, Captain," I replied. I looked at Dalma. I brought her fine hand to my lips again, "We will see one another soon, love."

"Not too soon, Jack Sparrow. But, you'll be back," she answered with a warm smile. I turned to leave, but she stayed me a moment more. "Jack, be careful. De Elixir you had last night, bot' in liquid and in da physical sense, it can make you reckless and forgetful. Don't go forgettin' your friend at de bottom of de sea."

"Who?" I asked. I was honestly confused.

Dalma shook her head. "You'll remember wit' time, Jack. An' when you do, be sure to make a Remembrance for him."

I smiled back at her, a little bewildered by who she meant was at the bottom of the sea, but then, much of what Dalma said confused me. Cary was utterly lost to me at that moment. Even later, when Kensington asked me what happened in the mermaid's lair, I didn't remember.

But, Dalma was right. I did remember with time. And the guilt was terrible. But, I hid it well from the crew. They welcomed me back with open arms that first day. I had a new confidence about me, and a few droughts of rum had me confiding in them what they'd already suspected. I was no longer an innocent. That earned me a few pats on the back and lot more rum.

She was right about another thing, as well. I became very reckless. The next two years sped by in a swirl of honest pirating, dishonest trading, and all around debauchery. I seemed unstoppable at the gaming tables at port, and I never went to bed sober or alone. On board the _Atropos_, I was mostly drunk, but still a good sailor. The crew thought my new confidence was a result of sharing Dalma's bed, but I knew it just stopped me from ruminating on Cary.

The Remembrance beads also helped me come to terms with my guilt. The night I arrived back on the ship, I thought long and hard. One memory that always soothed me was that of my mother's beautiful contralto voice when she practiced in the garret. I put that one in a golden bead. Another was the memory of first setting foot on the _Atropos_. That went into a long wooden bead. I put them in my hair so that I wouldn't lose them. Whenever I touched them, I felt calm. Over the years, I added more beads and more memories from my childhood. I even cut a hole in the coin Kensington had given me for luck and fastened that into my locks among the beads.

The crew teased me about my increasingly eccentric appearance, but I didn't care. They respected me because I was becoming an excellent pirate. Bailley even speculated one evening that Kensington would probably name me his heir to the _Atropos_ when he decided to retire. I had been counting on it silently from the moment I'd met Kensington, but I never told any of the crew.

One night, all that changed.

We were at port on the green island of Montserrat. It was a beautiful place, but there weren't many placed that welcomed pirates. However, Kensington was warily respected by a few of the local merchants there, and we came to sell the plunder we'd taken from a merchant ship bound from the Colonies. After we'd sold the spices for a very elevated price (almost 200 pounds for one cask of rosemary! And almost twice that for the pepper and cloves! The islanders must have really liked to season their dishes!) and the Captain had returned to the ship, I found myself in the only tavern and brothel the small town had to offer called the Red Jill.

The crew spread out amongst the ruckus inside and I found myself at a gaming table. The game played was a dice game called Twelve Man. The object was to roll the two dice three times to get as close to thirty six as one could. Whichever player had the highest number of points won. If a player rolled a twelve, he automatically won, no matter how many times he'd rolled or how many points he had. If he rolled a four, he automatically lost. I was very good at this game, even though it was based on luck. I seemed to have an endless amount of that, anyway.

I was on a winning streak and had a whole stack of various coins from various countries stacked in front of me. I didn't even recognize some of the words or emblems, but I knew they all spent the same. I was planning on finding myself the best girl in the place for my night's lodging. I was already pretty deep into my bottle of rum by the time a scraggly-looking old man ran into the tavern and began shouting about some ship emerging from beneath the water. My mates and I laughed, but a hushed calm had fallen over the rest of the revelers.

I looked at the man seated to my left. He was a brawny looking chap who sported not a few scars on his face. He was as white as sheet. "What's all this about, then?" I asked.

"The _Flying Dutchman_, mate," he said somberly before crossing himself. The other players at the table followed suit. As did the rest of the people in the tavern, even the whores. I laughed again.

"A fairy tale, gents! Come on, on with the game, then!" I said, taking up my dice and shaking them. Scarface stared at me, his eyes fearful.

"S'not a tale, mate. Say, what's the date today?"

"I don't know," I remarked. I hadn't been doing a very good job of keeping a date book recently, so I had to do some quick mental calculations, "It had ought to be somewhere in about mid-April in about, oh, I don't know... 1704?"

My fellow table-mates gasped in unison. I glanced around, thinking it was time to leave as everyone had suddenly gone mad at once. I locked eyes with Cotton and nodded towards the door. He looked just as stunned as everyone else.

Then he rose from his chair and looked at me. In the silence, he spoke, "This be one tale I never got to the end of, Jack. It seems that every ten years, Davy Jones comes to the surface and can come to land."

"Davy Jones? Oh, Cotton, you and Bailley used to fool me with your stories when I was green, but I don't believe them anymore," I remarked. However, my assured grin had left my face, and my stomach had begun to feel a little sick. We weren't on the ship, and every face in the bar spoke of their belief in Davy Jones. Then, Cotton spoke again. Well, sang is more accurate.

"One year in ten,

Those what end in four,

The _Dutchman_ can ascend

And come to light from the ocean floor.

Only in this year

Can her Captain come to land.

All sailors shall fear

His wicked gaze and terrible hand.

Beware Davy Jones' Locker.

Beware the temptation of life everlast

For the man who would be his mocker

Shall serve eternally before the mast!"

At the end of the song, the tavern door banged open again. There, outlined in the low light from the street lamps, stood a hulking man. At least, he looked like a man until he came into the light. His face looked slimy and he had a beard of tentacles. From beneath his octopus-like visage, peered two very intelligent, keen eyes. He was dressed much like me, in a tri-corn and coat, but he had one lobster claw as his left hand and his right leg looked like it belonged to a crab. His other hand was a tentacle wrapped around a walking stick. His coat was encrusted with barnacles and coral polyps, and he held a pipe between his teeth. I supposed he had teeth.

He pulled his pipe from his lips (at least, I guess you could call them lips) and cackled, "I see you've heard of me!" Davy Jones roared with laughter and it was echoed by the unsightly crew behind him.

"Oh, bugger," was all that escaped my lips.


	8. A Roll of the Dice

Davy Jones scanned the room with his black eyes and settles upon Bailley. "I thought that was the _Atropos_ offshore. Where is your captain?"

Bailley stood to his full, normally intimidating height. Jones just laughed, "You don't have to playact for me, boy. I remember you when your were knee high to lobster tail. Where is Kensington?"

Bailley stared him right in the eyes. Even I could see he was trembling, but he was putting on a good show. "You know full well where de capt'n be, Jones."

Jones gave another hearty laugh. I was surprised the rafters of the place didn't come tumbling down as his rich tenor voice rang through them. "I do, son. I do. But, 'tis neither here nor there. It is my one night of freedom on land and I do not intend to wasting it on relics like your captain," he said, his sonorous speech somehow reverent. Suddenly, his eyes brightened and he walked heavily toward the gaming tables. "Now, who is up for a good game against old Davy Jones?" He leveled his gaze directly at me and spoke again, "Ah, a young man with a run of luck, eh?"

I laid my hand on my chest and looked around to make sure I was the only "lucky" young man around. Unfortunately, my pile of coin gave me away. I don't think I ever thought so low of currency until that moment. "Who, me, Captain Jones? No, it seems I've taken the wrong seat. I'll just be going back to my table now -"

He cut me off with a pound of his walking stick. He lowered his octopus face so it was a mere inch from my nose. I don't know how I kept myself from pulling back in disgust. He smelled like someone's unwashed breeches after they'd been dipped in tar and thrown into the galley's used oil reserves for three weeks. Needless to say, the odor was unpleasant. But, I remained expressionless.

"What's your name, lad?" he asked. His breath wasn't much better, but at least it carried the less-unpleasant aroma of tobacco.

"Jack Sparrow, mate. At your service," I chirped back. I knew there was no use in trying to run. I might as well take whatever was coming to me like man.

One of the tendrils of his beard reached up and caressed the coin bearing the cross that dangled from my black hair. I was surprised when Jones laughed merrily and backed into a chair. "Kensington's protégé, I see. I've heard about you."

"You have?" I asked, completely taken aback. I straightened the lapels of my coat and and grinned, "You have."

"There isn't much that happens in these waters that doesn't reach me, master Sparrow," Jones laughed again. I was beginning to wonder why everyone was so afraid of this man. He seemed right jolly and he hadn't yet taken any rum. "Then it shall be my pleasure to take you from him," Jones said roughly and laughed again. "What is the game, Sparrow?"

I explained the rules to him. "And, the standard bet is one shilling or its match."

"I'd like to raise the stakes, if I may," he replied after taking a contemplative puff on his heady-smelling pipe. The haze of smoke seemed to engulf us, so that we were in a small cocoon apart from the rest of the tavern. Indeed, no one spoke, all just watched our exchange. I assented to Jones' challenge and he told me his terms. "If I win, you will leave your beloved Captain Kensington," Jones spat out his name like it was a foul curse, "and serve the _Dutchman_ for the rest of your natural life and beyond."

"And if I win?" I asked without missing a beat.

Jones laughed again, "In the unlikely event that should happen, you can have whatever you want that is in my power to give."

"The _Black Pearl_," I answered immediately. She had been floating around in my subconscious since Cotton told that tale to me all those years ago. "Is that in your power?"

Davy Jones sat back. I'd obviously stunned him. After he chewed the pipe a moment more, he smiled. "I can give you the _Pearl_. But, it will take some doing. She's been in the Locker for nigh on a hundred years. And, no matter what, the _Pearl _comes with a price of her own."

"And what is that?"

"You can only sail her for thirteen years and then your soul comes to me," Jones said, his slimy beard already exploring the dice before him. He was eager to play. "Are you ready to pay that price, young Jack?"

I held out my hand and replied, "I'm not so young, Jones." He laughed, hearty and loud, and wrapped his tentacle hand around mine. It was a bit like shaking hands with a slimy snake.

"It appears we have an accord, gentlemen," Jones crowed. His crew gave up a holler and we made our first rolls. I had a five and a six. An excellent start. Jones, however, came up with only a three and a five.

"It's odd you'd go to the _Black Pearl _after all Kensington must have told you about her," Jones sneered, while he shook his second roll. He came up with a two and six for a total of sixteen thus far.

"Captain never mentioned the _Pearl_. Besides, she'd been long sunk by the time he was a glimmer in his father's eye," I said, rolling a neat five and five for a total of twenty-one. I was five ahead. Jones growled at my roll, but then eyed me. He looked slightly confused, then suddenly laughed out loud again. He held his dice.

"Surely, Kensington's told you who the legendary pirate who captained the _Pearl_ was!"

I shook my head to indicate the negative. I was anxious to continue. I was only one more toss from the ship of my dreams and the captaincy I fully expected.

"Why, none other than himself, Sparrow!"

"Impossible, Jones. Now, if you'll please -"

"No. You listen to me," Jones said, his jaunty tone carrying a hint of malice. "That man who sails the _Atropos_ sold his soul to the devil, all right. He sold it to me! The _Pearl_ drove him absolutely mad and finally, he tried to sink her himself. But, she wouldn't go down. She's got a magic about her, you see," he said. I was stunned. It couldn't be true, but yet, I always knew there was something about Kensington that was off. "I sunk her myself and stowed her away. I imagine you've met the witch?" he continued.

I shrugged. I hadn't met any witches that I'd been aware of.

"Tia Corinnina, fool. You've met her. I can tell by those ridiculous charms in your hair," he spat. I reached up and touched the one that held my mother's voice. It wasn't helping me right now as the pounding of my own heart drowned out all else.

"Well, she enchanted your _Atropos_ and Kensington himself. As long as he stays aboard her at night, he doesn't grow old, nor can I find him. Even if I find the ship."

I looked at the dice in front of me and then over Jones' head. I saw Bailley and Cotton staring at me. They looked grave. I knew Jones was telling the truth. "And, if you found him?" I asked quietly. I was shocked to hear my own voice. It sounded just as young as it had the day I'd left my mother in Paris. There was no hint of the confident pirate I'd become in that moment.

"He'd be forced to honor his agreement and serve eternity before the mast on the _Flying Dutchman_," Jones answered.

I nodded. After a long quiet pause, I spoke, "Well, are we going to sit here all night or are you going to cast your lot?" I demanded, the confidence resonating through my voice.

Jones stared at me, "You still want the _Pearl_?"

"_I _am a man of my word, Jones. To forfeit now would be to serve before you with your ghastly crew. I'll take my chances with the _Pearl._"

"Well, Jack, may she make you crazier than you already are, then, if you win her," and with than, he threw his dice. A one and a three! An automatic loss.

I leapt from my chair, somehow not surprised. Inside I was angry and I had to speak to Kensington, but on the outside, I was my usual self. Bailley, Cotton, Pell, and the rest of the crew joined me behind the table.

I lifted my bottle to Davy Jones, "To you, Jones! I shall be forever in your debt for making me Captain of the _Black Pearl_!"

Jones stood, angrily spilling the contents of the table, "That's right, Captain Jack Sparrow!" he spat out at me, "You are. In thirteen years, I'll have your soul for my slave and Kensington's besides!"

He turned to leave and I called out, "Well, when do I get my ship?"

He made an awful grunt and turned again, "Meet me in three days off the north shore of Hispaniola and you'll have your ship!" With than, he stalked out, calling for his crew to follow.

Once they hideous lot had departed, a cry went up in the bar. I was held aloft in my chair and carried around the room to chants of my name. More rum was poured and my winnings (what hadn't been nicked up by the dishonest patrons) were collected. Amidst the revelry, I heard a great cry come as though from miles away. It was Captain Kensington, "Jack Sparrow!"

No one else in the tavern seemed to hear, so I slipped out during he third verse of "Yo Ho" and rowed out to the _Atropos. _I went to sea just in time to witness the _Dutchman_ dive beneath the water's surface.


	9. A New Crew

I knocked on Kensington's cabin door. I was truly frightened by what I might find behind the door. I looked up at the moon as I heard him call out to me, urging me to join him. The moon was full. It seemed to mock my fear. I entered.

Normally, the room defied the confines of the ship's dimensions and I had marveled at it's unnatural size when I'd first joined the crew. Now, however, I was taken aback because it appeared to have shrunk. Granted, it was the size it ought to have been, but it was definitely disconcerting. Enchanted ship, indeed.

The room was also quite dark. The creaking of the timbers, usually so soothing, grated on my frazzled nerves. I couldn't see Kensington, but I knew he was there. He spoke from the shadows at length, "Jack, I need to tell you something." His voice, usually so clear and crisp fairly crawled up my skin and nettled the back of my neck. It was as though a living breathing corpse spoke to me from the corner of the cabin. I though instantly of my mother. I shuddered.

"I figured that, Captain," I answered, trying for jaunty and pulling off pained. I hated that Kensington knew I was afraid of him for the first time since I'd met him.

"I am going to come into the light now, Jack. Please, don' be frightened," his voice was still eerily distant and hoarse, but his kindness warmed it slightly. I was trepidacious, but I knew he wouldn't hurt me.

Finally, he walked forward. The sight was ghastly, but I resisted the urge to recoil from him. He was almost doubled over a cane and withered, a mere shadow of himself. Normally, he stood at my own height. His boots, mass of curly hair, and plumed hat made him seem much taller. Of course, he always dressed like a gentleman, down to polished boots, though that was hardly practical at sea, but now, he wore a threadbare nightshirt, patched and re-patched all over. It was transparent enough that I could count his ribs and see the curvature of his hip bone and spindly legs. His skin, normally a robust bronze from hours under the sun, was stark white and slightly tinged with blue around his mouth. His skin was so stretched over his skull, it seemed barely large enough to contain it. And the black hair had been reduced to a few wisps of white.

Despite my internal response to flee from this ghoul, I strode to him and allowed him to sag his slight weight against my study frame. I helped him to his bed and sat there with him, concentrating on the mocking moon peeking through the window. "Thank you, Jack. I knew I could rely on you," his voice came again, a mere whistle through the rotten lungs and broken windpipe of a long-dead sailor.

"How? And why? If the _Pearl_ drove you mad, why didn't you just go down with the ship? Why go on like this?" I asked quietly.

"Me? Oh, Jack. I should have known Jones would say something like that!" he laughed. It sounded more like a cough and it wracked his body. I waited for him to continue. "See, Jonesy and I were mates. Best friends back in London. We tore up the town, we did," he stopped to cough (or laugh, I couldn't be sure) again. "We boarded the _Pearl _together once we'd come to Caribbean to try our hands at pirating. Well, I was content to serve under her Captain. Decent enough fellow. Really took to Jonesy and I, as we were terrific pirates," he stopped to take a deep breath. "But, Jones wouldn't serve under anyone for too long, and he mutinied. I was his mate, but we split up the captains share of the plunder fifty fifty, like we were co-captains. And, well, you can guess the rest of that story, I suppose."

"Jones got greedy and wanted you out, right?"

Kensington nodded, "But, see, most of the crew sided with me and tried to get me to mutiny. I couldn't do that to my oldest friend. So, we went our separate ways. He found the _Dutchman_ and I kept the _Pearl._ I never knew why he let me keep her. Old time's sake, I suppose," he paused again. But this time, there was no coughing. He was merely thinking.

He continued at length, "Of course, the _Pearl _was already known as the fiercest ship in the Caribbean and likely, anywhere. So, the _Dutchman _hunted us ruthlessly. Jones was driven mad by some woman and, I suppose, greed. So, one day, I let my crew go at Tortuga, found an old friend who helped me out with the _Atropos _here. And, with this ship, I have eternal life as long as I can stay aboard it. I live this way because it's the only way I know how to keep Davey Jones from completely taking over the seas. As long as I'm still around, he remains at bay."

"And this friend was whom?"

"Tia Sevatheda. She would be Tia Dalma's great-great-great-great grandmother, I think."

"So, why do you think he agreed to give me the _Pearl_?" I asked.

"Because he imagines it will draw you away from me and I'll have no one to pass my legacy onto. But, he is wrong. Jack, we must get to Tia Dalma right now," he stamped his cane down in the same way Jones had in the tavern. I didn't bother to tell him that, though.

"But, how are we going to get there? Dalma's river is at least a day's voyage," I sputtered. He had called her Tia Dalma. That must mean that Corinnina was dead. I touched the bead that held my memory of her in it.

I only mourned for a short moment, because the Captain had just given an order: "Ready the longboat!"

When we had descended into the small boat, I picked up an oar. Kensington, looking even more frail by the moonlight, stayed me with a motion of his hand, and said "That is unnecessary." He dipped his cane into the water and spoke so softly I barely heard him. What he said, he spoke the way I'd said my prayers as a young boy. Full of marvel and wonder, and not a little afraid of the wrath of some god.

"Mothers Moirae, daughters of Night,

Hear my call and lend me your light.

The Spinner, The Cutter, the Drawer of Lots be you three

My thread is eternal, but with you lies all Destiny."

And with that, the ocean swirled around us into a mighty whirlpool and pulled us down to her very floor. I clutched the sides of the boat, fearful of the walls of seawater around us. The roar of the ocean was deafening, but Kensington sat passively across from me. I stared around me, but just as suddenly as it had happened, it ended and we were floating leisurely at the dock beneath Tia Corinnina's hut. Or, I suppose, it was now Tia Dalma's. I looked at Kensington, shock written all over my face, but he just gestured to the ladder. I offered to carry him, but he declined and ascended before me of his own power.

Tia Dalma rushed to me and placed both of her hands on my cheeks and shook her head, "Reckless, Jack Sparrow. I warned you." She left me and went to Kensington. There were even more strange things hanging from the ceiling and cluttering every surface, but I didn't have time to inspect them. Dalma was already holding Kensington's hands and rocking back and forth in front of him, singing some strange and melodic chant beneath her breath. As she sang, what little light he had left was weakening. I breached the gap between us in three strides.

"What is going on?" I demanded. Dalma didn't stop to answer me, but she did open her eyes. Unfortunately, it wasn't to acknowledge me. She opened her mouth wide and wailed in some foreign language, her normally dulcet voice had dropped several octaves and had an eerie edge to it. Her irises abruptly rolled back from me and I cringed at the awful sight. Kensington seemed to wither further. I wanted to break the contact between them, but I was afraid of what might become of all three of us. So much energy had filled the room, it was an invisible force but as palpable as my voice would have been if I'd stood there screaming.

Finally, Dalma released Kensington's hands and he crumpled to the floor. I rushed to him and cradled his fragile skull. His breath did not make his chest rise and fall. When I laid my head against it, I heard no heartbeat. I looked at Dalma. She was returned to normal, although she was very pale. She crouched down opposite me and shook her head. I knew Kensington was dead.

"But," I began, fighting the lump in my throat, "He is immortal!"

"Der are no true immortals, Jack. Destiny has an ending for all of us. Some just take longer," she answered. Her voice was normal, but it was sad. She picked up his hand and caressed it. The skin grew plump and supple beneath her touch. She roved her hands all over him, restoring him to the way I'd seen him the first day aboard the _Atropos_. But, he still did not breathe and his heart was silent.

It could have been hours or moments later that Dalma laid her hand on my shoulder, I didn't know. I didn't look at her, so she crouched down beside me again and spoke, "You wonder why, Jack." It was not a question. I didn't answer. She continued, "He gave him life to you, Jack. He wanted time to tell you why. He intended dis from de moment you set foot on him ship but da _Pearl _is already trained on you. She will begin to wick away your life and your spirit as surely as it happened to Davy Jones. But, Jack, it's up to you now to keep Jones at bay." I remained silent. She opened my right hand and pressed a narrow white bone into my palm. "'Twas his, Jack. Keep it wit' you always."

She stood. I remained on the floor at his side, just staring. I closed his lids, shutting his brown eyes from the world.

Dalma gave me a small charm to drop into the river that would take me and Kensington's remains back to the ship. I moved methodically, carrying him to the longboat, untying it from the dock, and rowing out to sea. This time, I did not marvel at the ocean swirling upwards and threatening to crush me. I almost hoped for it. Finally, I carried him aboard ship and to his cabin. I brought the longboat up and secured it on deck My hands performed these actions as if by their on accord. Dawn had just broken in the east. I knew the crew wouldn't be long behind the first full rays of sun.

In the meantime, I busied myself making the _Atropos_ ready to sail. I planned to be at Hispaniola before Jones. I wanted the _Pearl_, cursed though she was over the ship that had become my home. It became my prison the moment I'd lain the Captain on his bedstead. And, besides, I needed to find myself a crew.

Bailley was the first to board, looking rather green. "Best put me on the binnacle, Jack," he said with a hearty slap on my shoulder. Following him came Cotton, Pell, and the rest of the crew. Not a one looked like that hadn't been loaded to the gunwales the night before. I knew they'd celebrated me long after I'd slipped out. But, I had to tell them.

The sorry-looking lot of them straightened at my words. They had all respected the Captain as an leader and a true friend. One by one, they doffed their hats or head scarves and looked to Bailley. He hung his great bald head, swallowing profusely. I knew he was near tears, though he wouldn't let them come in front of the crew.

"Well, Jack, what say you? We all know this ship was to be yours, but wit' the _Pearl _an' all, well -" the big man trailed off, looking sorrowful.

I nodded and bit back my own emotions. I stood to my full height and drew my sword. The crew gasped. This was a critical moment for any ship where the captaincy was debated. I simply tuned the sword and offered Bailley the handle. I gave him the _Atropos._

The crew breathed a universal sigh of relief and Bailley smiled sadly at me, "I am forever in your debt, Captain Jack." He knew I'd never have taken that ship.

"No, Captain Bailley, I am in yours. Now, may I be so bold as to ask for passage to Hispaniola?" I asked, sheathing my cutlass.

"We'll set sail right now! To your work, mates!" barked the new captain.

We sailed for Hispaniola. On our journey, we buried the Captain at sea, as he'd have had it. It took us a full day to reach the island sail around it to Puerto de Plata and we spent the night aboard ship in the wide harbor. The next day, we went to port. It was there where I took my last look at the _Atropos_ and Captain Bailley. Of course, I heard of places they might have been and of adventures they sailed on, but I never went out of my way to find her. And fate never put me in her path again.

Alone, I rowed down the Rio D'yuna and to the small village of La Vega. I had heard that it was a haven for pirates, thieves, whores, and the black market. I was not disappointed.

As I strolled down its many narrow side streets, I was solicited for sex, opium, and a variety of shrunken heads. The whores frightened me even more than the heads. As I moved to skirt another prostitute, a scrawny-looking dark-skinned girl stumbled out into the muddy street in front of me. She was clutching a headless chicken and her eyes were staring behind her, at some as-yet-seen menace hollered, "You filthy whore! You come back here so I can peel the worthless skin from your stinking bones!"

I bent and helped her up and shoved her behind me as the largest man I'd ever seen squeezed himself through the doorway from which the girl had just fallen. He must have outweighed me by two hundred pounds and was easily a foot taller. His neck was the breadth of the Christmas ham I'd eaten in England at the manor. In fact, his nose was turned up a bit and his nostrils flared so large, he looked a bit like a pig himself. He was quite sweaty and in a gruesome state of undress, but I supposed he must have had some money, for his breeches were of a good quality and looked new. His red face loomed large as the moon above me as he ranted, "Stand aside, pirate! That piece of whore-flesh is mine!"

She cowered behind me. She was shaking so violently against my back, she almost rattled my teeth out of my head. "Well, for a piece of property, you don't seem to care for her much," I noted, nonchalantly. I was hoping she'd take the time I was buying her to run, but instead, she stood there, clutching my belt and that fool chicken as though she were drowning and one of us was going to hold her afloat.

"What do you care? Eh? Get out of my way!" the Pig Man roared again, moving his giant ham hock arm to swipe my narrow form aside. I raised a small purse of coin and jingled it at him, "Do you wager this will be enough for the lass and the poultry? Eh?"

He swooped his huge hand down and took the bag. I was almost surprised to see that it was not cloven. He shook out the contents. A French livre and some Dutch Florins spilled into his hand. He roared with laughter. "More than enough, fool. Do you always overpay for whores? Or is it the chicken you fancy?"

"It is neither, sir. But I pay for the hope that you'll turn your foul-smelling breath away from me so that I might breathe," I answered. The small group of spectators we'd drawn laughed and began drifting back to their own debauchery. Pig Man grunted (or perhaps, oinked) and turned back to the house.

When I turned to see the girl, she'd gone. I shrugged and held up the gold chain and watch I'd swiped from the Pig Man's pocket. It ought to be worth at least what I'd given him for the girl. But my stomach did rumble then for some chicken. I headed for the nearest inn and slapped down two shillings for a bottle of rum and some chicken broth with limp-looking vegetables floating about in it. I was really looking forward to finding a crew and setting sail on my ship. My short time in this miserable little place was beginning to get expensive.

As I slurped up my soup and gulped down the rum, I noticed someone standing over my shoulder. My intuition told me the visitor was of the female persuasion. "If you'll give me the time to finish my meal, I'd be plenty glad to accommodate you, love," I told her without raising my head. A whore at my beck and call always put me in better spirits. However, I didn't want to spend more than I had already. I'd learned that if you let them think you didn't want them, they always lowered their fee.

Instead of retreating footsteps, a bleeding chicken was thrust under my nose. I pushed the broth away and remarked, "Well, I didn't want it all that badly anyway." I looked up to see who was presenting me with such a festive gift. It was the girl from the street.

I pushed the offering away with one finger and looked up her, "That's all right, love, you keep it. We're square," I said, taking another swig from my bottle. She shoved it back at me. And I pushed it back to her. "English?" I asked. No response, "Français?" I tried.

She lit up with a smile. I could see she had all of her teeth, which was a rarity. I myself had gotten one or two knocked out in various barroom brawls with the crew of the _Atropos_. But, they're easily replaced when you have the gold for it. But, this girl obviously didn't have gold for anything. Her face was nicely made, though. Her eyes were a rich hazel, almost gold and they stood out beautifully on her light cinnamon-colored skin. Her hair was long and dark brown. It was smooth, which suggested she wasn't of Carib or African descent. She was most likely a Kalínago. But, she spoke a fair amount of French as well as her native language. I gestured for her to sit with me and when I noticed her eyeing the broth, I pushed it to her and told her to eat. I ordered another bowl and she devoured it as well. When she'd finished, we conversed.

"My name is Kolibrí. I come to you to settle my debt," she said. Her French was broken, but then, so was mine after years of disuse.

"You don't have to worry about it, love -" I began. She cut me off with a hard look.

"No, you bought my freedom. I was no whore. I was his slave," she said. Her voice was hard, but not self-pitying. She looked down at the table before boldly meeting my eyes, "I know the poultry is no payment, but I will work for you. I cannot bear to be a slave again."

"It's really unnecessary. But, perhaps you could direct my to a place to find a crew? I have just come into a ship, you see-" I started, but she cut me off again. For a former slave, she was the least subservient person I'd ever met.

"Oh! I can crew! I am a talented sailor!" she burst forth. Her eyes were bright and shining. I doubted her sailing abilities as her arms and legs were as thin as spindles and I could practically count her ribs. I think she would have said she could wrestle a feral dog at that moment, if only to have gainful employment. I chuckled at her exuberance and held out my hand. At this point, I had to start somewhere.

"Well, Kolibrí, you're welcome aboard, then," I grinned at her enthusiastic handshake. I heard it was bad luck to sail with a woman, but I seemed to have landed in my current situation with the good luck I thought I'd possessed. Perhaps Kolibrí would prove to be a new good luck charm.

"And, Captain Sparrow, I know just the place to find more crew!" she stood. I took that to mean that we were going at that moment, so I followed her. It had been dusk when I'd entered the tavern and there hadn't been many revelers about at that early hour. However, night had fallen and there were people everywhere. The press of the crowd lifted my spirits. A crew should be easy to come by.

I was proven wrong again.

Kolibrí took me a loud and raucous tavern called the Velvet Clam. I marveled at the imaginative name a moment, before my intrepid new friend pulled me through the doors. Apparently, "clam" was a not-so-subtle euphemism. I pulled Kolibrí back to my side and whispered harshly to her, "I need a crew that's a little less female, if you please." She laughed at me and led me past the prostitutes who lounged in all states of undress and blew kisses at me as I passed. We entered a dimly lit bar area, where any number of shifty looking individuals were seated. They eyed me warily.

I paid the barkeep to allow me a little privacy in the corner of the tavern and Kolibrí acted the serving wench and sent anyone willing to hear my proposal to my table.

My first prospect was a salty looking old man who was shoe-less. That wasn't irregular, but the fact that he was also sans breeches was a little disturbing. I rubbed the bridge of my nose. This was going to be interesting.

"Well, uh, hello. You're interested in being a pirate, then?" I began, gingerly focusing my attention on his face.

"I been a pirate, son, nigh on forty-seven years!" he bellowed at me. I sat back a little. Well, experience counted for something.

"And, what was your last position aboard ship?" I asked.

"I was the goatherd!" he announced proudly.

I grimaced and forced myself to concentrate of his face. I tapped my hands together, brought my fingers to a steeple and pressed them against my lips. I searched over his shoulder for Kolibrí. She did not seem to be having much luck. "I'd no idea that one required a goatherd aboard ship," I began. I hesitated a moment before continuing, "Would you like to, er, look after goats aboard the _Black Pearl_ under me, then?"

I'd no sooner said "Pearl" when the man's face went white. He crossed himself and hopped twice in place (much to my chagrin) before answering, "The _Pearl_? Never! Ain't no man that crazy." I was about to answer that I thought I'd finally found him, but I held my tongue as he walked away. The next three interviews went much the same way, give or take the goats. As soon as the man heard me speak the name of my ship, they blanched and took off.

Finally, a man seated near me walked over. "You honestly have the _Pearl, _mate?" he asked. He stood close to my height and was probably my senior by ten years. His long curly brown hair and beard were prematurely shot through with grey. His face was lined and his nose was rather bulbous, but his blue eyes held an appealing sort of youthful mischief. He wore a black coat and brown breeches (thankfully). Atop the outfit was a round-brimmed hat that sported a large plume.

"I do, and who, may I ask, is inquiring," I asked. Until this man had approached me, I was seriously considering collecting my only crew mate thus far and leaving. I really hoped he wasn't as nutty as the previous ones.

He stuck out his hand in the usual manner. I resisted the urge to inspect it, as I'd already touched a number of unseemly materials since I'd taken my seat. "Hector Barbossa, and you are?" he asked, taking the applicant's seat. I was heartened. So far, so good.

"Captain Jack Sparrow," I announced proudly. I had really gotten used to the title. I planned on using it at every opportune moment. I almost wished I had to fill out some paperwork, so I could practice making my mark with my title.

Barbossa nodded at me, "The _Pearl_, have you had her long?"

"Just acquired her, as a matter of fact. That's why I'm seeking a crew."

"And where, might I ask, did you _acquire _such a prize?"he asked, leaning forward to hear my story.

I was about to tell him that he might not ask when another gentleman burst into the room, half -carrying and half-dragging two giggling whores along with him, "Hector, you are absolutely missing the fun!" This man was a good deal taller and broader that Barbossa and around the same age. His fair features were smeared with rouge and lip paints, his blond hair was mussed, and his merry blue eyes were bleary with rum and other spirits. He looked like the type of fellow from whom I could win a great deal of money and still laugh with the next day.

"Ah, Bootstrap, I think you need to meet Captain Sparrow," Barbossa said, with a dramatic sweep of his hand towards me. The man smiled blearily, "Howdyoudo?" he slurred. I smiled and nodded at him. He lowered his gaze back to Barbossa, "And you need to meet Nina and Maria! Come back upstairs. I bet Pinta is somewhere!" he laughed uproariously at his own joke, and the girls laughed with him. Barbossa hardly acknowledged him. Instead, he turned back to me.

"I think what my friend meant to say is that we'd be delighted to join the crew of the _Black Pearl_. Have you got a first mate yet?" Barbossa asked. He was decidedly presumptuous, but as I was decidedly desperate and he seemed like a good enough sailor, I told him that I did not.

Kolibrí choose that moment to reappear at the table. She looked hard at me and accused, "I thought I was your first mate!" She had the nerve to pout.

"And I thought you didn't speak English," I answered with a grin. Her pout faded and she smiled at me, innocently. "And, besides, love, I need you to climb into that crow's nest. I know I won't be able to find anyone lighter and stronger than you to do that each day, savvy?" She smiled prettily and sat down with us.

Barbossa fixed me with a glare, "You sail with women?"

I shrugged, "I sail with whomever I please, mate."

He smiled and held his bottle of rum aloft, "Well, then, here's to the _Black Pearl_! No matter who crews her, she's mighty!"

I raised my bottle. Kolibrí raised someone else's glass of ale. "Aye! To the _Pearl_!" we cheered.

Bootstrap fell into the vacant chair without his whores. He took his last gulp of rum and looked at the three of us and asked, "Who's Pearl?"before passing out on the table.


	10. The Pearl Takes Hold

But the end of the following evening, my small crew had grown to fifteen men, and one woman, with Barbossa's help. It seems he'd recently been in the market for ship of his own, but the prospect of sailing aboard the _Pearl _was too sweet an opportunity to pass up, even if it meant he'd have to serve under a younger pirate.

We picked up a giant Carib man named Aciguatao. He was fierce looking and had more tattoos and markings on him than I had blank space on my own flesh. But, he was an experienced sailor. I made him the boatswain. Additionally, Barbossa dug up two fools he'd sailed with on his last ship. Ragetti and Pintel were an entertaining pair if nothing else and battled with one another for most of our brief interview. At least they had all of their clothes on.

"Bootstrap" Bill Turner turned out to be a jovial fellow, even when he wasn't sotted. Standing at his full height, he was almost as tall as Aciguato and as fair as the bosun was dark. I asked him to be the quartermaster of the _Pearl._ Ragetti and Pintel were adequate gunners as far as Barbossa was concerned, so that task fell primarily to them.

Finally, with the crew selected, we sailed down river to Puerta de Plata and found a comfortable inn in where to spend the remaining evening before I was to lay claim to the _Pearl._ I was positively jittery over the prospect of being her captain. After all, I'd never even seen the ship. And, she'd been in the Locker, whatever that was, for decades. Probably, close to a century. And, I wasn't even sure if Jones would honor our deal. That was the subject of Barbossa's and my discussion.

"So, Jack, you never told me how you came into such a fine ship, anyway. It isn't everyday that someone gains possession of a mythical ship, after all," Barbossa began, cutting heartily into a thick loin of savory pork. My mouth watered at the sight. I don't know where Barbossa had all of this money, but since I'd met him, he didn't seem to care about spending it.

I looked down at my own pathetic bowl of broth and the stale bread beside it. I picked up the bottle of rum instead. I hadn't planned on telling anyone about the bargain, but I thought it would be advisable to tell my mate. And, I reasoned, Barbossa seemed trustworthy. The man practically treated me like Kensington had, with a sort of calm guidance.

"Well, I won her," I began. Barbossa's eyes widened. "At dice," his eyebrows shot up, "Against Davy Jones," I finished. Barbossa's jaw dropped.

"That's impossible!" he sputtered. "Jones is a myth."

"So was the _Pearl_, mate. But I've seen Jones in the flesh, smelled him even, ad I assure you. He's very real," I said wryly, dipping into my soup.

"And, when do we see her?" he asked, dispensing with the pork and moving on to an array of fresh fruit. He bit into s lice of apple. I hadn't eaten fruit since... well, I couldn't remember when. I spooned up a limp carrot. I grimaced.

"Tomorrow, sometime. Jones told me to meet him here," I said. I spread my hands in a gesture that told Barbossa that I wasn't sure. The older man only shook his head at me.

"And, you got no collateral? No mark?" he pressed.

I shook my head, taking another swig of the spiced rum. It was tasty, at least. Perhaps if I poured some into the soup... I shook my head in response to my own idle culinary musings.

Apparently, I hadn't impressed Barbossa. He stared at me, his color heightened. But, he didn't say anything.

Finally, I noticed his silent fume. "Look, mate, he gave me his word."

As if to save me, Bootstrap strolled over, another young lovely draped over his massive forearm. He smiled rakishly at me, "Captain Jack Sparrow, I brought you a gift. Meet Cassia," the blonde girl slid seamlessly into my lap. Bootstrap had good taste. "She will be your entertainment tonight. And, from the looks of it, not a minute too soon. Hector here looks like he's about to explode." Barbossa continued to stare at me, as though he wanted to throttle me. I laughed at Bootstrap's characterization. "Well, Jack, you go and have a good night's rest. I'm going to see what I can do for your first mate, eh?"

I stood and with Cassia in tow, found ourselves a cozy nook in which to get to know one another better.

The following morning, I disentangled myself from Cassia. She was a beauty, so young and innocent looking with the predawn light warming her cheeks. It was such a shame to have to leave her behind. I left a few more coins under her pillow. I didn't know how much Bootstrap had paid for her, but she's kept me company all night, so it was worth whatever I could spare her.

I pulled my boots on and found a wash basin. I splashed the cold water on my face, neck, and chest. Looking into the chipped mirror above the basin, I studied the man I'd become in the last four years. Gone was the youthful roundness of my cheeks and innocent gaze. Instead, my cheek bones were more pronounced and hollow from the light way I'd been eating and the excess of liquor. My eyes were darkened from the Kohl, but glittered with some new knowledge and rarity. I smiled slowly, revealing an assortment of gold and silver. Where my hair had been clipped to my jaw in my youth, it now ran in rampant disarray over my shoulders, shining here and there with the Remembrances. I had wound a red scarf around my forehead to keep my hair out my eyes, and had since secured the white bone to my locks as well. I had also grown a goatee, where I'd twisted a few more of the beads. I was irreversibly a pirate and certainly looked the part. I grinned again at my reflection and pulled on my shirt.

As I opened the door, Cassia stirred behind me, "Jack," she sighed, "come back to bed." She stretched, pulling the sheets away from her lithe form enticingly.

I grinned back at her and pulled the door shut. Always best to leave them wanting more. In the hall, I found Barbossa knocking insistently on a door. "Mate! I envision a great day before us," I pronounced, putting my arm around his shoulders.

He shrugged out from under my arm and I commenced dressing, shrugging into my coat. "We won't be having much of a day at all if Jones doesn't produce the _Pearl._ Or, if you quartermaster continues to sleep, for that matter," Barbossa continued, pounding against the pine door with his fist.

"Don't worry about that, Barbossa. Everything will work out. Just bring the crew to the port in the next half an hour, " I left him then, descending the stairs. I picked my way over a few sailors who didn't make it our of the tavern the night before. I swiped a full bottle of rum from one sleeping gentleman's hand and took a taste. "A good day, indeed." I whistled a jaunty tune as I made my way toward the quiet port.

The sun was just rising and the sky was clear. The air smelled salty and fresh. A few fishermen where loading gear into their boats. They gave me a wide berth as I made arrangements to buy a longboat. I chuckled at them. I didn't envy their lifestyle at all. Home and hearth was something I'd renounced long ago, along with scraping for coins and working too hard. And, with the captaincy, I hoped to work even less.

My mood continued through the morning. By the sun, it was almost seven when Barbossa joined me with the rest of the crew. Kolibrí bounced up to me and chirped her good morning cheerfully, despite the fact that she'd had her share of ale the night before. I saw that she'd procured a few more clothes and tied a scarf in her hair as well. Rather than disguise her beauty, it only served to emphasize it.

"Captain Jack, I can't wait to see the ship!" she crowed, scanning the horizon the same way I was. She still spoke in French with me, but in English with the crew.

"Me either, love," I remarked. I was anxious, but not nearly as much as Barbossa. He stood at my right side, searching the seas eagerly.

We didn't have to wait long. The _Flying Dutchman_ broke the surface of the sea with a roar. Her great bow resembled a swordfish smile and dripped water and seaweed. The timbers were black with brine and saltwater, but she held together as though she's been carved from a single tree. The sails were tattered and torn, but then, the _Dutchman_ didn't need a weather breeze to get from one port to another.

Barbossa and I made for the longboat. Bootstrap and Kolibrí followed in kind. Once we'd navigated through the now-bustling port, we rowed for the _Dutchman._ I hadn't seen her too closely the night I met Davy Jones. Rowing up to something so fearsome was a daunting task. Luckily, I had enthusiasm and three eager sailors on my side, so we reached her quickly.

When we climbed aboard the vessel, I was prepared to see the horrific crew and Jones awaiting me. However, there was not a soul in sight. Suddenly, I felt Kolibrí's arm on my left sleeve, "Captain Jack?" she murmured, fear coating her words. I looked at her and followed her gaze.

The mast to her left had sprung an arm. And then a leg. And another arm, brandishing an axe! A tall, er, pirate with the head of a hammerhead shark leapt away from the mast with a snarl, "Crew!" At that command, more disgusting sailors peeled themselves from the walls. It was as if they were part of the ship itself. I shuddered.

Shark Head stepped in front of me. He loomed above me by about half a foot and his rows of sharp teeth didn't help me to feel any better. I merely took a step back. My crew did the same. "Well, sir, I am in need of your captain. If you'll tell him that Captain Sparrow is here, I'm sure I can be off you boat in no time," I explained, gesturing wildly with my hands. I had heard somewhere that one can distract a shark with a lot of movement in different directions. It didn't work. He took a giant step toward me.

"I know who you be and de cap'n know you is here," the thing snarled. He didn't back off, but he did secure the axe to his belt and cross his powerful-looking arms over his massive chest, "He will come when he ready."

I grinned, "Lovely. We'll, uh, just wait then." We backed all the way to the bulwark and leaned there, doing my very best to look at ease. The rest of my crew were not doing so well. I think Kolibrí was doing the best job of it, however. Her chin was held high and she'd crossed her arms over her chest. Another member of the crew, this time it was burly pirate with barnacles covering his face, walked up to her and tried to run a fat finger down her jawline. I caught his slimy hand before it touched her. "I'd be thinking twice before doing that, mate."

He was shorter than I, but twice as broad. He took a rough step towards me, but I had my cutlass at his throat before he could grasp a weapon. "Well, ain't no woman what sails with pirates. Mayhap she be Jack's young man, eh?" he said, stepping back. The crew exploded with laughter. It wasn't exactly the merry, heartwarming kind, either.

Jones' appearance cut them off, however. He stepped onto the deck, banging his cane down against the oaken planks with a resounding bang. "Enough!" he roared. He marched toward me and my crew. I heard Bootstrap offer a quick prayer to the Holy Mother and Barbossa just stared. "Well, if it isn't Jack Sparrow come to collect his debt."

"It's Captain now, thanks to you," I said cheerfully.

"Indeed," he said, stopping before me and peering into my face again. The odor wasn't nearly as bad as it had been inside he tavern, but it was still unpleasant. One of his beard tentacles reached up and stroked the bone in my hair. He suddenly laughed uproariously, expelling a small gust of foul breath. "How the mighty have fallen, eh Jack?"

"My ship, Captain Jones," I snapped. He stood back from me before laughing again. "Please," I added.

"Fine. I am a man of honor, let no man say otherwise!" he proclaimed, holding his pipe aloft.

The crew answered in unison, "Aye! A man of honor!"

"Well, it's been lovely to see you again, Jones," I began. He stopped me from saying anymore by pushing his face into mine again. He was so close, I could see the blood pulsing beneath his slimy skin. I wrinkled my nose, but held firm.

"Keep that in mind in thirteen years, Jack Sparrow! You'll be spending a great more time with me then!" he proclaimed, laughing again. The crew joined him in that round.

I just clasped my hands together and looked pointedly at the sun. "Oh, but it's getting late," I started. Jones whirled on me and I held mum.

"Fetch the impatient young captain his ship!" Jones commanded. I grinned broadly. Even Barbossa smiled. The sight was rather unpleasant, but still heartening.

Over the opposite rail I saw her emerge from the sea. She sailed up elegantly, rather than making the foul splash the _Dutchman _had made. Her sails were furled, but I could see that they were black. I judged her to be nearly two hundred feet from bowsprit to transom and probably half that to her mast. She was breathtaking.

She sailed towards us, unmanned presumably. I could see she had two gun decks and was probably forty feet at the beam. No wonder she was unbeatable. _But, could she run?_ I wondered. As she ran alongside us, I felt lightheaded. I couldn't wait to board her. Indeed, I strode across the _Dutchman_'s deck and made to jump the short distance when Jones' slimy arm slithered around mine. I turned.

"Yes?" I asked, shortly.

He touched my hand. Where his touch was cold and slimy, there was an unusual warmth in my palm. I looked down. Black grew like spilled ink across my palm, and just as quickly disappeared.

"The Black Spot," Jones said. "When you see it once more, you'll know your time as captain is up. Consider it a parting gift from one captain to another."

"Yes, well, um, thanks, I guess. I must be going now, don't find me, I'll find you, all right?" I said, climbing the rail. I looked pointedly at my crew, "Gents? Miss?" They scurried across the deck and joined me as I jumped the distance.

Landing on the deck of the _Pearl_ sent a shiver through me. She was solid as a rock under my boots, swaying ever so gently on the waves. I wanted to explore her, touch and caress each of her boards, carvings, details. I wanted to know her like a lover. I started toward the grand cabin. Barbossa held me back.

"Captain? Hadn't we ought to -" he began.

"Get the hell out of here!" Bootstrap cut him off. He was already scrambling up the mainmast to unfurl the sail. Kolibrí followed suit on the mizzen. Barbossa made for the foremast.

I looked behind me, Jones was staring at me, a smile on his face. "Why don't you take her for a run, Jack?" he called, "Load the guns!" he ordered. His crew jumped to.

"Bugger," was all I managed before jumping to the quarterdeck and landing behind the wheel. She was an ornate cherry bit and she found my hands as though we were meant to be. I turned her had to the starboard. As soon as the sails were set (no simple task for three sailors) she caught the wind. We were lengths away from the _Dutchman_ before they'd even fired a single shot. She _could_ run.

I glanced behind me. Jones' laughter carried through the wind to my hearing. They did not give chase. Perhaps he'd never meant to fire. I didn't care. I was facing the horizon and I was home.

Bootstrap and Kolibrí rowed back to shore in the longboat, towing the _Pearl_'s dinghy to retrieve the crew. As soon as they'd shoved off from the ship, Barbossa turned to me. "Well, Jack, what're your plans now?"

I grinned at him. "I think we'd ought to find a ship and do a little honest pirating, mate."

He nodded, but didn't return my smile. I was beginning to think his earlier reaction to the _Pearl _was his joyful allotment for the year. I shrugged it off.

Soon, the crew was aboard and we made our way towards the open waters near the coast of Port-Royal, where there were bound to be some incoming ships. My pockets had been feeling a bit light in the past week, and I was eager for some coin. Or jewels. I never had enough of those, either.

We weren't on the hunt long before we overcame a small merchant brig called the _Widow's Wake_. I still marveled at the _Pearl_'s speed and didn't have time to contemplate the ominous name. She wasn't flying the Roger, so she was fair game. And, the ship didn't even try to fight once we'd run alongside her.

Most of the crew boarded her alongside me. The _Wake_'s crew were of the knee-knocking variety, so we didn't have to threaten them any. Just as I'd seen Kensington do the first day I saw him, I asked for the captain. A slender man strode from the quarterdeck and faced me boldly, his arms clasped behind his back. I took him to be a former navy man. "I'm the captain. And just who are you?"

"Captain Jack Sparrow, at your service. Now, if you could be at _my _service for a moment, I have a need of the contents of your hold," I explained, jovially. Captaincy was practically a euphoria all its own and now, I got to order people around on top of it!

"I think that is highly out of the question, Sparrow. But, I'd be happy to see you back to your, er, vessel there," the captain replied, with a derogatory sneer at the _Pearl._ I was as offended as though he'd insulted my own mother, rest her soul. But, I said nothing. He only needed a little more persuasion. I never got the chance to do that persuading.

Barbossa drew his sword before I could say another word and placed it at the captain's throat. The poor man turned seven shades of white, but held firm. I turned and stared incredulously at my first mate. Once the horrible scene registered in my brain, I pushed Barbossa's sword down so that the only threat it posed was to the deck. "Really, Barbossa, I can handle it," I sneered.

I unsheathed my own sword, but held it facing the deck. I turned back to the captain. The man was rubbing his throat and murmuring a prayer. He'd been so startled, he hadn't thought to draw on me or my mate. "If you'll excuse my mate's zeal, I'd like to be shown to the cargo now." I repeated. The pale man nodded and turned for me to follow. On my way, I fixed Barbossa with another questioning stare. He had the nerve to shrug and make that almost-grin at me, as though he'd helped! I shook my head.

I assessed the hold. There were rugs, linens, and pewterware, as well as odd pieces of furniture and china. "Are you moving your home or selling these wares, captain?" I asked, conversationally. He did not answer. "Well, never mind then. It will all fetch a price." I unlatched a trunk and held a ladies' silk chemise aloft. It was so faint, I could see through it. I let it slip back through my fingers and arched an eyebrow at the captain. "Sailing does have it's slow moments, eh, captain?" He didn't reply. "Or not." I shrugged and ascended back to the deck.

"It's good, mates! Get below decks and transfer the goods," I announced with a grin. The crew answered my command with alacrity. I grinned again. A man could get used to this. I vaulted back to the _Pearl_. When I saw that my mate had followed, I headed toward the cabin. Before I entered I tossed over my shoulder, "Once the crew has secured the plunder, make a heading for Tortuga. I want this sold and the money in our pockets before twilight." When I head Barbossa head toward the quarterdeck, I turned.

My voice was icy, but not angry, "And mate, please refrain from interfering like that again." I smirked at him and entered into the privacy of the cabin.

Barbossa and I stayed out of one another's way from then on. It was as though the qualities I'd seen in him as a mentor in the days on Hispaniola had never existed. Perhaps I had conjured them as a way to fill he place that Kensington had left empty.

It was not the ideal situation, for a captain and mate to be at odds, but it worked in its own way. Barbossa was an excellent sailor and a better pirate, save for his temper. Bootstrap often served as our go-between, an ally to us both. One could say I was the face of the operation and Hector was the muscle. Of course, I tried to keep him from flexing that muscle as often as I could.

I was successful for almost a year.

As the months passed, my crew changed very little. A few people left and we always gained more back, but the core remained the same. I tried my best to live up to the example Kensington had set, working alongside the crew as long as I could, rarely ordering people around. But, it was tiresome. More often that not, I found myself in the cabin, pouring over star charts and maps of the Caribbean and beyond. I hoped to sail out of the islands one day, perhaps for India. If I wasn't there, I was at the helm, just letting the _Pearl_ guide me. I knew I was never the one in complete control.

Kolibrí was my shadow. She was a fine sailor and could climb the lines and repair any tear in the sails in a way that reminded me of the way I used to dangle above the stage and repair the lamps in the Opera House. She grew less fragile and increasingly beautiful as time went on. She loved to pick through the pretty things we took from other ships, often taking an old gown and fashioning it into a lovely headscarf. I wryly thought of taking her to my native France and letting her loose of the fashion houses on the street where I'd grown up.

However, with each passing day, I could tell she harbored feelings for me that I did not reciprocate. She was like a sister to me, someone I took into my protection, however precarious a situation that was, and taught pirating to. I imagined I felt for her what Kensington had felt for me.

Both problems came to a head during my twenty-third summer. We had just run across a merchant vessel carrying fine silks from Persia. We could not verbally communicate with any of the men on board. I almost felt sorry for them, but they wouldn't get a fair price at any port as it was if they couldn't speak the languages as it was. And, I was a pirate. The Persians understood swords, at least.

I went below decks and tallied the plunder. At my last noticing, silk linens were fetching at least two pounds per item. And with the reams and bolts of fabric I saw before me, I knew I could fetch a tidy sum at any pirate port. I was grinning happily as I took the stairs. Perhaps I'd even give some to Kolibrí to have made into a sash or some such adornment. However, when I stepped onto the deck, the scene before me wiped the smile from my face.

Barbossa was standing over a member of the merchant crew. The man was losing a lot of blood from a wound in his chest. I knew it was mortal. The rest of the crew were holding their arms against the frightened Persian crew, but none made a move. I knew they'd only drawn to protect themselves. Barbossa had most likely dealt the first blow. For what reason, I didn't know and didn't care.

"Drop your arms! And load the cargo!" I commanded. I stared at Barbossa. He did nothing to disguise his guilt. In fact, he wiped the bloody blade across the dying man's shirt. The crew did not move until I bellowed, "Now!" I'd never bellowed anything at them before, and they knew I was serious. They scurried to the task, leaving Barbossa. I took a step toward him. He didn't even have the courtesy to step back.

I pointed to the _Black Pearl_. Barbossa rolled his eyes at me. "Come on, Jack, he was going to start something. I was protecting you and the crew."

"You'll call me Captain, Hector. And I know bloody well you're lying," my voice was eerily calm, even to my own ears. It was the voice I'd heard over the dinner table at the manor years before. I took a deep breath and swallowed hard before continuing in a voice more like my own. "Look around you," I gestured, encompassing the crew who still stood, staring at their fallen mate. "They aren't pirates! They're men, as honest as we are thieving. You can't go around killing everyone who looks at you strange! There won't be any honest men to steal from if you keep doing that!" I was breathless with my little speech, and anger still roiled beneath my calm exterior.

Barbossa took a step towards the rail, "Now, Jack, if you don't kill a few that cross you, you won't have any name for yourself."

"And if I did kill those that crossed me, I'd have no one to tell my name to," I spat back. "And that's the second time you've addressed me so informally. I'll ask you not to do it again."

"Of course, Captain," he said, clearly mocking me. The crew was transferring the last of the silks to the _Pearl _as Barbossa leapt over the space between the ships. I made to follow them.

The crew of the Persian vessel converged upon the dead man. I strode toward them and they dispersed. On closer inspection, I saw that the deceased had only been a boy. I gritted my teeth and dug out a few coins from my pocket. I laid them over the boy's eyes and boarded my ship.

Barbossa had leisurely assumed the post at the wheel. I glared at him as I passed. Bootstrap laid his hand on my arm and I looked up at him. "You have to understand something about Hector, Captain," he began.

I walked away before he could finish. I looked back at him before entering my sanctuary, "Mate, there are some things I never want to know." I closed the door.

A few hours later, a knock sounded at my door. I could see Kolibrí's lithe from outlined against the window. I rubbed the bridge of my nose and took a pull from the bottle of rum on the table before me. "Come in," I called.

She opened the door. She was carrying a triangle of the silk fabric we'd confiscated today. She held it before her, like a talisman. It was a short sash of black silk, the threads so fine they slid over my fingers like a breeze. Kolibrí knelt at my side and wordlessly wound the length around my wrist, her long, slender fingers playing on my skin. Her touch and the silk's texture sent a shiver down my back and warmth bloomed in my gut.

I looked down into her face. Her lids were low, her smoky eyelashes skimming her cheeks. The low lamplight turned her cinnamon skin into the color of warm mocha. Her lips were full and red as though she'd been biting them. The effect was mesmerizing.

She held my hands between hers. She removed the linen I'd tied around my palms to keep the lines from blistering them. Then, she put them on her face. Her narrow cheekbones had filed out since I'd first met her. Unable to resist the feel of her warm skin, I let my fingers stroke her jawline, smoothing a stray silky strand back from her neck. I traced her collarbone and the hollow of her throat.

She held my hand again and kissed my fingertips. A jolt traveled from the point of her lips to the growing pool of desire in my lower belly. I held back a groan. She pushed herself up and sat in my lap. I did groan. She put her lips over mine and kissed me deeply. Before I could think, I wrapped my arms around her and pulled the scarf from her hair, allowing the black locks to trickle through my fingers as though liquid. But then, my mind overran my senses and I held her back from me.

"You don't know what your doing, love," I said, my voice borderline ragged with desire. She smiled at me. Her perfect row of white teeth lighting up her whole face.

"I do, Jack. I want you. I want this," she kissed my throat and moved lower, parting my linen shirt with her long fingers and burning lips. I let my head fall back. I pushed her away once more and looked her in the eyes.

"You deserve better, Kolibrí. I can't love you like you should be loved. We can't do this," I said. It was probably the hardest thing I'd ever forced myself to do. She was looking at me, wanton passion practically burning through her eyes, and I was saying no.

She stood and crossed her arms over her chest. She was deeply hurt, I could see it. I opened my mouth to explain, but she simply held up her hand and shook her head. She walked out of my cabin and did not look back.

The next day at port, she slipped away from the crew and I never saw her again.


	11. A New Quest

We sailed on, of course. Bootstrap and I seemed to be the only ones who missed Kolibrí's energy and enthusiasm. But soon, it was Aciguato who had recaptured and refocused our attention.

Late one fall afternoon, the winds were low and since we were without a heading, I didn't feel it was necessary to continue at a fast clip. We sailed the calm waters between New Spain and Cuba, lazily on the lookout for merchant colors on the horizon. Barbossa was at the helm, and I leaned casually against the port rail, looking out at the vast sea, not a spit of land in sight.

Aciguato was singing a low, rather mournful song in a clear tenor that made the back of my neck prickle with memories. It was a song unfamiliar to me, but the lyrics were simple.

Gold piled high, wealth so vast,

Greater than Eldorado,

If it be there where you aim your mast,

Calamity shall follow.

Row, me hearties, row!

The Island's grip can't hold

Them what resist curséd gold!

Row, me hearties, row!

The legacy of Cortés, treasure to be found there,

More riches than ever in Golkonda,

If you can't resist and land there,

Eternal damnation shall haunt you.

Row, me hearties, row!

The Island's grip can't hold

Them what resist curséd gold!

Row, me hearties, row!

After a few more verses, the crew had caught on and sang along with the baleful tune. I finally asked Aciguato what the song was about. And then he told me about the fabled gold that Hernán Cortés had siphoned from the treasury and hidden during his years as a clerk in Cuba. Later, after he'd sacked Tenochtitlan and married one of Montezuma's daughters, he took the Aztec gold from that union and hid it, along with countless other Spanish treasures he'd gathered over his years of service. But, according to rumor, he was never the same after meeting with the Aztecs. Some say, he became paranoid and had his wife appeal to Quetzacoatl himself to protect the treasure from the Spanish lords who envied him.

So, somewhere, on some island in the Caribbean, lie some great and supposedly cursed treasure. The knowledge was enough to make me feel better than I had in weeks. "Barbossa," I called, "set sail for Tortuga. If there's any truth to this fable, we'll find the seeds of it there, eh?"

Barbossa made a gesture that suggested to me that he didn't want to waste his time chasing down myths, but then, he had little choice. I was still captain, after all. He turned us to starboard and the wind caught our sails hard. We were in the pirate port just before midnight.

It was hard to find anyone who had any idea what I was talking about, but finally I was engaged in a conversation with an extremely drunk man who claimed that he knew of Cortés' treasure. Of course, that was the last coherent statement he'd made.

"S'likely 'n th' sea, y'see?" the man slurred at me, his lids falling shut.

"Yes,of course it's in the sea, but have you any idea where it might be, mate?" I asked, drumming my long fingers impatiently on the oaken bar.

"Yesh, o'course. 'Ztec gold be in-" he began. He never finished. Rather, he dropped his head to the bar and slipped off of his chair. I sighed and let him lie. I turned back to the bar and took a healthy pull on my rum bottle.

That's when a greying sailor next to me spoke up, "So, yer lookin' after that cursed gold, eh, sailor?"

I looked at him and nodded, "You wouldn't happen to know where it was, now would you?"

He stood and gestured for me to follow. Figuring I had nothing to lose, I followed. He led me to a dark little corner. "Best not be too loud 'bout this, ye hear?" he said once we'd taken our seats. I nodded conspiratorially and he began with his version of the story.

"Well, it's been nigh on three years I been sailin' in there here waters, mate. An' I heard lots o' stories, aye I 'ave," he took a drink from his mug and set it down empty. He glanced at my partially filled bottle and I gave him a splash of my rum. He grinned at me and continued, "Well, an ol' salt on a merchant rig I sailed fer tol' me the map you seek is written on the skin of a man from Cuba." His voice was so low, I had to really concentrate to hear him, and when I finally made out what he said, my eyebrows lifted. Maybe the years at sea had adversely affected the man.

He shook his head at me and pressed on, "It's the Lor's honest truth, it is! It's a tattoo on his back."

"And, have you any idea where I might find said tattooed man?" I asked, taking the last gulp from my bottle. The sailor watched the amber liquid disappear rather sadly. He spread his hands to indicate that he did not know. I leaned back in my chair and steepled my fingertips, contemplatively.

"Well, mate, thank you for your time, eh?" I said dismissively, looking around for Barbossa to see if he'd had any better luck.

"Jack Paulet?" The old man asked, realization spilling down over his shaggy features and serving to light him up like a newly oiled lamp.

My eyes riveted to him. No one had called me that in years. It felt like the air had been sucked from the room. And then I realized who the man was.

He reached across the small table to grasp my hand, "Time and tail feathers, Jack! It can't really be you!" He pumped my hand cordially.

"It can, Gibbs, it can," I choked out. Time had greyed the man and made him much more portly, but I was surprised I hadn't recognized him. Joshamee Gibbs, the man who sailed Cary and I to Paris.

"Where's your friend, Jack? The skinny one?" he asked grinning foolishly and looking around,as though Cary might appear with a round of ale.

I shook my head and struggled to swallow the sudden lump in my throat. I don't know whether it was caused by the sudden collision with my past or the memory of Cary, "the skinny one."

"The sea took him, Gibbs. Mermaids," I replied, also looking around for a barmaid and stiff drink.

"No!" he replied with a sneer and a quick sign of the cross, "Filthy beasts, they are. I heard lot of tails of their trickery, I have." I simply nodded in reply, thankful of the barmaid heading in our direction with a fresh bottle.

"So, Jack, what tide brought you to Caribbean? Treasure, eh?"

I grinned, the rum bringing back some of my composure, "Fortune more likely. And, it's Captain Jack Sparrow, now, mate."

"Sparrow, hey? I heard that name many a time. A right reputation you got yerself, my boy!" he tapped his bottle with mine and we drank heartily.

I brought the conversation around to the gold, once more. "So, is there any truth to this tattooed map?"

He shrugged his shoulders, "You know how many ghost stories float between sailors. They're as common as Kraken sightings and, well, mermaid lovers." He took another drink and stared into the liquid, considering before he continued. "But, you know the best place to get yerself inked is Santiago."

I nodded, hoping against hope that I caught his meaning. "Will you sail with me, mate?"

He shook his head to indicate the negative, "Not I, Jack. I have a few prospects around here that I wish to investigate a might further," he looked pointedly at a Rubenesque beauty near the bar who was fairly falling out of her garments as she pouted at Gibbs. "But, if I ever have a need to sail under the Roger, you'll be the first man I look up."

I grinned at him and put out my hand, "And, you'll be welcome, mate!" I stood and eagerly scanned the room for my first mate. I was anxious to set sail for Tortuga. I knew if we left immediately, we could be there by sunup.

It took me longer than it should have to assemble the crew. They were not happy to pull out at the late hour, but I was adamant. Once aboard the _Pearl_, I gave my heading and silently praised Joshamee Gibbs. And, then I retired to my cabin to contemplate the art of tattooing.

As I'd hoped, we arrived in Santiago with the dawn. My crew was weary, so Barbossa and I sailed alone to the shore. Aboard the longboat, I told him my plan.

"I'm going to scout out a tattoo artist and see what I can learn about this map. The man I spoke to had a strong idea that Santiago would be the place to continue the search," I smiled. I thought it was a good plan. And, directly after, I planned on getting back onto my ship and getting some sleep. Or, perhaps, I could find comfort in the arms of a Spanish lady on shore. My mind wandered along that happy path, until Barbossa snapped me back to reality.

"Jack, do you even listen to me?" at my silence, he rolled his eyes, "I said that the crew isn't happy about investing so much time in a fairy tale. The bosun isn't even sure it's real."

"Come on, mate, pirating has got to be fun. We have quite a hoard at the Isla de Muerta, enough to last us the rest of our lives." I said. Barbossa was unmoved. I knew there could never be enough for him. I sighed but forged ahead, "Look, I just have a feeling that this Aztec gold is going to be something. Something big, eh, Barbossa? Something big enough, perhaps, to get you your own ship. Perhaps even a bonny lass or two, and a whole orchard full of those apple trees you like so well." The more I pushed, the more I could see the greed in his eyes. I knew he could convince the rest of the crew if I could convince him. And I knew I just had. The man was simply crazy for those damned apples. A little too biblical a fruit for my tastes, but to every man his own and all that rot.

When we made port, I could feel Barbossa's new hunger for the fabled gold. I thrived on it. We finally located the only disreputable tattoo house in the town. Anywhere of repute was was of no use to me.

We entered the low, dark hut and I immediately cringed from the scream I heard from the back. I was seriously reconsidering my decision to patronize this gentleman's shop. I looked at Barbossa and was about to ask him if he had any interest in getting a tattoo when a small wiry-looking woman stepped from behind a curtain.

She was beautiful, if a little on the thin side, with large dark eyes and a tumbled mass of red hair. From the blood and ink staining her hands, I took her to be the tattoo artist. Gentleman indeed.

"State your business," she said roughly after look us each up and down. She had a proper British accent, that sounded quite surprising coming from her mouth. She looked anything but proper in a simple cotton gown that revealed her every angle and curve.

As I opened my mouth reply, a wan-looking Spaniard came from behind the curtain, clutching his left upper arm. Fresh blood stained the linen tied around his arm and I saw the trace of tears left on his grimy cheeks. The man tossed some coins on a table, muttered something darkly in Spanish and pushed past us to the door. Though I was sorely regretting this, I couldn't back out now.

"Well, love, I was of a mind to use your services," I began, eloquently disguising my fear. At least, I thought I was.

She strode right up to me and rolled up my right sleeve and pressed her dirty finger into the flesh of my forearm, "Here," she said before turning back to the curtain. She looked back at me and lifted her eyebrows. "Now," she demanded before letting the curtain fall.

I looked at Barbossa, and he just gave me one of those gruesome grins and gestured toward the curtain. I followed the lady back.

It was even darker in this part of the hut. There was a small window, but it was covered in soot and grime, effectively blocking the light. I gulped down the knot in my throat and spoke, "How do you go about seeing back here, eh?"

She had her back to me and was laying out her instruments. "I don't have to see. I just feel."

"Oh, that's just, er, splendid," I muttered. I took a seat and watched her. "What will you be feeling to put on my arm then?"

"What's your name?" she asked, turning abruptly toward me. She looked evil, her flame hair a blaze around her small, dirty face, holding a violent looking bit of bone in her hand.

"I'm Captain Jack Sparrow, love," I began. She cut me off with a sharp nod. She sat down facing me and exposed my arm again. She took a soaked piece of linen and carefully wiped away the dirt there. I just watched, fearful of how my voice would sound in the face of those awful instruments.

She picked up a pointed bit of metal that looked like a chisel and placed it midway between my wrist and the crook of my elbow. I swallowed hard. "Keep still," she spat. I pinned my arm to the table next to me. "This will hurt," she said, none too kindly.

She pounded the metal into my flesh and blood poured from my skin. It hurt. She made a few more incisions and the pain gradually dulled to an overall throb. After each few slices, she'd rub some blood away and smear ink into the new wound. It was so dark in the room, I couldn't even see what shape the picture was taking. I guess it didn't matter much. After I got used to the pain, I began to ask her about the map. "So, have you done this long?"

"One year here, one in London," she replied. She never looked up at me.

"Oh, well, that's reassuring then," I quipped. No response. So I forged on, "Do you know any of the local legends?"

"Some," she continued, piercing an especially sensitive bit just above my wrist. I bit back tears. This hurt a lot.

"So, have you heard anything about a young man with a map tattooed on his back?"

"Of course," she sat back to examine her work, though I don't know what she saw in the mess of blood and black ink. She reached behind her and selected a smalled bit of sharp bone and went back to work. The bone was no more gentle.

I tried to hide my excitement and pressed on, "What have you heard?"

She finally looked up at me, "The man I worked for when I arrived here did that tattoo." I just stared at her. She continued, after resuming her work. "I mean, I assume it's the same one. It was when I first arrived here. I was to apprentice this man, Kandra. He'd been a friend of my father's." She went on hacking away at my arm for a few more minutes before she continued. "I was here when it happened but I was not allowed to watch this particular tattoo. A man brought in a young boy, perhaps, ten or eleven, and demanded that Kandra tattoo a map to his back. He promised to pay well. And, when the tattoo was complete, one of them killed him. I hid away in the trees out back, so I was spared. They seemed to be in a great hurry and left quickly."

I knew I was too lucky for her answers thus far, but I pressed on. "Do you remember what either of them looked like?"

"The boy looked like any other you'll find around here. Dark eyes and hair, he was terrified, though. I could see that much. The man was very old, but strikingly tall. He had a long grey beard and wore a curly white wig. He also had black teeth. He made my skin crawl."

"Did you ever see the tattoo?"

She shook her head to indicate the negative and sat back once more. "It's finished." She wiped away the blood on my arm to reveal and setting sun and a sparrow flying to the right. It was expertly formed and crystal clear, though my wound was already weeping blood again. She wrapped my arm with a bit of fresh linen. "Try to keep it clean and dry for a few days. It'll be one pound or two doubloons."

I fished out the fee and handed it to her. "You can see yourself out, then?" she asked, already turned away from me a cleaning up the tools.

"One more question, love, how long ago was this?"

"Two weeks," she threw over her shoulder. Two weeks! Either news travels fast in the Caribbean or he wasn't the first boy to bear a tattoo of a map leading to cursed Aztec gold.

I stood and the room spun and swayed around me. I clutched at the table, still crashed to the floor. I woke up in my own cabin. Barbossa leaned against the stern windows. He turned to look at me when he heard my stir.

"Have a nice nap, Princess Jack?" he scoffed at me, and broke into a harsh laugh.

My head pounded and my arm throbbed, but I still managed to sneer at my mate, "It's Captain Jack, if you recall."

"Fine, fine, but what did you find out?"

I told him what I knew and he grinned one his disgustingly toothy smiles at me. "Glad to hear that we're not just chasing air. There is a pirate I've run across that matches that description."

"Enlighten me, Barbossa," I said, reclining against the wall behind me.

"He was an old man when I was just new to the sea and he captured the first ship I ever sailed on. His name was Kennedy and he was as mean a pirate that I'd ever come across. I heard he had his hands in some other lines of business as well." I was surprised. For Barbossa to call anyone mean, they must really be a dirty son of a bitch.

"A pirate and a pimp, then? Lovely combination," I interjected.

"Yes, well, he managed to mutiny against old Black Barty and stole his ship," Barbossa continued.

"Oh yes, I heard that story somewhere," I remembered Cotton had sailed under Captain Bartholomew Roberts and had a soft spot for the man. He was a very successful pirate and it would have taken someone powerful to mutiny him. I was beginning to not like this Kennedy. "So, where can we find him?"

"I'm not sure. The only place I ever met him was in the open sea. Tortuga?"

I shook my head, "Let's go north to New Providence."

He agreed and left me in peace. I was just settling back into my bed when I heard her voice again.

"How's your tattoo healing, Captain Jack?"

I sat up and looked around. The red-head stepped out of the shadows and into the light.

I pressed my fingers to the bridge of my nose and closed my eyes. "It's fine. Why are you on my ship?"

"I saw my chance to get off of Cuba and I took it. I helped your mate carry you on board, and I just never disembarked," she walked towards my bed and unwrapped my tattoo. The blood had dried, but it still ached. "You aren't mad, are you?"

I pulled her down and possessed her mouth with my own. I felt her tense and then give beneath my kiss. When we broke apart, I grinned up at her. She was flushed and her lips were swollen and red. "I'll get over it."


	12. Identities Revealed

"You, sir, are a cad," the woman sneered when she jumped away from me, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

"Firstly, yes I am. Second, I expect some payment from all those aboard my ship," I grinned up at her. She was standing with her hand on her hips and looked ready to claw her fingernails through the freshly forming scar on my forearm.

She exhaled a haughty sounding, "Hmph" and then laughed at me. It was a bold laugh. She actually threw her head back. I sat up, thinking perhaps she was mad as well as talented with sharp objects. Not a good skill set from my point of view.

"Really, Sparrow? Do you take all of your crew to bed with you?"

I colored at her suggestion, realizing too late what my words had sounded like, "No, I meant," I stammered a beginning before letting the rest tumble from my lips in hurried succession, "they work for me, eh? What kind of work can you do?" I raised my eyebrows at the last, trying to regain a bit of control.

She tossed her head, red hair flipping from one dirty shoulder to the other, "Not the kind you're interested in. That is, not without a little of recompense in my direction, see? But, I'm a sufficient sailor. I'll work for you until we reach port."

I shook my head, rather annoyed at being bullied aboard my own ship, but I would hardly feel right about tossing her overboard, so I figured I might as well accept it. And, besides, I could use a good tup. It had been a long while since I was last in Tortuga. And I never did get a hold of a fine Spanish lady. "Fine, whatever. I'll take you Barbossa and he can fit you out some chores, eh? What shall I call you then?"

"My given name is Mary, but most folks call me Scarlett on the account of my hair," she said, with a noncommittal shrug.

I nodded, "Scarlett it is. Let's go and find my mate, eh?" I led the way onto the main deck to the first startled, then hungry stares of my crew. "Mates, this is Scarlett. She'll be working alongside you gents for the trip to New Providence, savvy?" I said, by way of explanation.

"Oh, great, Jack. Another charge for me to keep an eye on. As if the lot of you aren't already enough," Barbossa remarked from his position at the helm.

"It's Captain. And if you make that mistake once more, I swear I'll put you in the brig myself," Barbossa just stared as I made my little speech. I'd obviously been too easy on him. I made a mental note to follow through with my threat the next time.

Bootstrap stepped in my direction from his place on the forecastle, "I'll keep an eye on her, Cap'n," he offered with a sincere smile.

"Just give her some light work, eh Bill? And try to make sure the only part of your anatomy that you keep on her is your eye. And the rest of the crew, as well," I said as a quiet aside after I'd made the introductions. In a louder tone, I added for Scarlett's benefit, "I'll be in my cabin if you have a need, eh love?"

She had already seen it fit to dismiss me as a protector, and merely nodded. I bowed my head formally and went back to my cabin.

Apparently, she did have a need. She came to me directly after we dined late that evening. "Captain, I'd like to know if I could possibly sleep the night in your cabin? I can sleep on the floor, no problem." She looked mildly distressed for all of her earlier bluster.

I wasn't naive. I knew my crew wouldn't be able to contain themselves with such a pretty young thing in their midst, not even with Bootstrap watching over her. Hell, he'd probably have her first, besides. And with no madame to enforce the rules of such an engagement, she'd surely receive no payment.

"Of course. I'll rig you up a hammock, all right? Unless you care to share my bed?" I grinned down at her.

"Not without a little bit for my purse," she replied firmly.

"I might take you up on the offer," came my riposte.

She smiled up at me, cheekily, and placed her thin fingers on my lapels. "You know, if you work extra hard, I might be able to tell you a bit more about that captain you seek, eh Jack?"

"Jack, is it? Are we so familiar now?" I asked, tracing the narrow bone at her throat with my long forefinger.

"We will be," she answered as she slid my jacket over my shoulders. I winced as the fabric rubbed my shirt over my tattoo. She smiled up at me again, the peevish tattoo artist wholly replaced with a cordial whore. Whatever the act she put up, I thoroughly enjoyed this version better.

"Let me take care of that," she cooed before rising up onto her toes and sucking at my lower lip. She undid my waistcoat and divested my of that,as well as the coarse linen shirt. She ran her fingers over my bare chest, working her way nimbly down to my breeches. I stayed her with my own hands.

"Oh, no, love. This is going to last all night if you intend to share _my_ bed," I spoke hoarsely against her ear, tracing the contours with my lips and tongue. She sighed loudly, letting her head fall back so I got a rather appetizing view of her small breasts straining against the thin cotton of her dress. I lifter her mouth to mine and walked her to my bed, never allowing contact to be broken.

I undid the buttons of her gown quickly, reveling in her experienced mouth and tongue as it worked on my throat and points south. Once I'd slipped the garment down, I saw she wore no shift and she was bare to the waist. I wasted no time before cupping her small firm breasts, lowering my head to graze one with my tongue before heading further down her torso.

I peeled the garment down her legs, letting it puddle at the foot of my bunk. I found my way back up her body to the apex of her legs and the small thatch of dark curls there. Her skin was so white where the sun had never touched her and the hair so red, I smiled at the contrast before dipping my head to take her willing slit into my mouth.

She gasped and grabbed my hair, tensing the instant my tongue touched her. Almost as suddenly, she relaxed beneath me, alternately squirming and thrusting against my lips. Not long after, she convulsed and simpered and few "Oh my gawds" and finally fell still. I raised up above her settled over her.

"You okay, love?" I asked, with a wide grin.

She smiled wanly, "You know I am. It's just that no man has ever – well, never done that for me," she laughed, "Perhaps you should join my line of work, eh, Captain?"

I winked at her, "Just working _extra _hard, Scarlett."

She nodded and pushed me back onto the bed and straddled me, "Well, Jack, if you'll let me do _my _job now, perhaps we can get to what I know," she smiled down at me, her eyes sincere and bright. I put my hands behind my head and grinned.

Not long into the morning watch, Scarlett lay beside me. We were both exhausted, but wakeful. She ran her hand over my chest, lightly tracing patterns. I felt them, more than saw them, and spoke up, "Why tattooing, love? Why not some artist famed across Europe?"

She answered nonchalantly, though I heard the darkness edging her words, "My family, you know. Not exactly the artist types."

"And by that, you mean not wealthy?" I ventured.

She shook her head to indicate the affirmative against my shoulder, "Right. So, I left home to find some honest work. And, I found the next best thing."

"Dishonest work," I filled in. I knew the subject quite well.

"Right," she laughed. Her laugh was so full-bodied and rich, it made me want to join in. She continued, "And, then I fell in with a man who taught me the trade. We moved to the Caribbean, and, well, you know the rest."

"So, that man you were apprenticed to was not a friend of your father's?" I asked.

"You are a quick one," came the retort.

"Aye, that's Captain Jack Sparrow for you. Nothing slips by me," I answered, jovially. She laughed again.

She continued, not without hint of sadness, "We were married. He'd taken me away from the life I hated and tried to reinvent one for me here," she shrugged again and when she spoke again, her voice was stronger, "But, you know, I'm a lot better off than most women in my position. I've got two trades under my belt, so to speak." I felt her grin against me and did the same.

"And the man who killed him?" I pressed.

I felt her tense against me and she rose onto her elbow before speaking, "Captain Phineas Bellamy. The description I gave you was accurate. He's ugly enough to scare the hide off of a horse, that one."

"Why give me his name? I mean to find a treasure and I know he knows where it is. What interest is it of yours?" I asked, fearful that she was steering me in the wrong direction, seeing that Barbossa seems to have been sure that the man was Kennedy.

"First, I figure you can probably kill him, or at least take away what he loves best: that blaméd treasure map. Second," she said with a slow grin, "I figure if you do find that treasure, mayhap you'll be a steady customer."

"Hell, love, if you can tell me more, I'll buy you a damned brothel _and_ a tattoo parlor!" I exclaimed.

"Oh, Jack, 'I'll buy you' are my three favorite words in the English language!" came her rejoinder. I grinned at her.

"Well, now, what makes you so sure that he's this Bellamy fellow?" I asked.

"The harbor master was a good friend of Kandra's, he was my husband, mind you," she began. I nodded for her to continue, "Well, he knew Bellamy's ship, the _Arianrod_ from the reports of others who's worked in Santiago. And, of course, Bellamy's face is practically legend all its own."

"He's really that ugly?" I couldn't help but ask.

She only nodded and shivered, as though the memory were enough to frighten her. "That man's face will haunt me so that even my children would have nightmares." She paused and cocked her head. "Not that I'll probably have children," she pondered, a far-off look glazing her eyes. I grimaced, slightly, but she picked up the thread of her tale without my having to intrude. "Well, anyway, like I said, I didn't see the tattoo. I was hiding. But, I can tell you that on the way out of the hut, he growled something at the boy that sounded like 'Nasser.'"

"Nassau?" I asked.

Scarlett nodded, "Yes, that was probably it. Nassau."

Of course, that's what they'd been calling New Providence for the last ten or so years. I'd always thought of it as New Providence, since that had been what Captain Kensington called it. My intuition to head there rather than to Tortuga had proven fruitful. That is, if we could track this man down. I should have noticed something was off when Barbossa had been so eager to share his information about Kennedy with me.

I reached up and traced a line from Scarlett's jaw to her navel, resting at every bump, nook and cranny along the way. I smiled at her and she threw a leg across my now-lively manhood.

"This'll cost you, Jack," she cooed in my ear as she ground against me.

"You drive a hard bargain, love," I answered as I found may way inside of her.

Her only answer was a lovely moan.

The following afternoon, Barbossa sighted New Providence. Scarlett came to find me in my cabin to report the good news and I followed her to the main deck.

"Pull her around starboard. We'll take her east. I think there's a little spit of land between Nassau port and Paradise Island. We can sight for any pirate ships from there and I'll decide whether or not to make for shore."

"Aye, Captain," came my first mate's dark reply. "Do you know what ship you're looking for?"

"What does Kennedy sail? Bart's old ship?" I asked.

"Aye, the _Rover_," came Barbossa's answer. The lying bastard.

"Then, we sight for the _Rover_, mates!" I called.

"Aye, aye, Cap'n," my crew answered.

Once we were tucked away behind the small cay on the north side of New Providence, I sighted pirate colors through my glass. A grand ship was beneath the Roger. I sincerely hoped she was the _Arianrod_.

"Bootstrap, and Scarlett. You two with me. We're going ashore."

"You don't wish me to come, Captain?" Barbossa asked, his accent falling a little too hard on my title. I smiled at him.

"No, Barbossa. You have a history with him, eh? I don't want us chased off the island at the sight of you," I explained. Not that I should have had to. But, I didn't want to risk him following me.

The young coxswain, Benjamin, readied the longboat as well as the bosun's chair for Scarlett. She just smiled at him and climbed down the ladder. I was about to follow her, but thought twice. "Come along, son, I'd like for you to stay with the boat in case we need to make a quick turn around, eh?" I asked.

He grinned and nodded eagerly, "Aye, aye, Cap'n Jack!" He went down before me and I went last.

Before I descended the ladder, I called out to Barbossa, "Keep a weather eye on the port for us to come back and be ready at a moment's notice to sail, eh? And you might want to consider dousing our colors, as well."

I boarded the boat, without waiting to hear Barbossa's answer. I was really beginning to consider having him put off of my ship. Perhaps I could pay him off, or maybe just demote him. I watched as our ensign was run down and thought that I'd worry about Barbossa after I'd found this new treasure.

As we pulled into the bustling port, I recognized several pirate flags, but I had a hard time locating the grand ship I'd seen from the _Pearl. _As we came closer ashore, I saw her.

The _Arianrod_ was an enormous barqentine, obviously built for power over speed. She was probably half the length of the _Black Pearl_, but just as tall. She was pretty far into the harbor, so she was most likely flat-bottomed and not carrying much. She had six guns on her port side, and probably an equal number on her starboard. Despite her length, she probably needed twice the crew the _Pearl_ required for the amount of upkeep she displayed. The bright polished cedar bulwarks sparkled atop the pristine blue waters, catching the late afternoon sun so that the ship shone like a gold bar on a mound of sapphires. Her sails looked as fresh and white as they day they'd been sewn. She was, in a word, magnificent.

"She's a fine ship, ain't she Cap'n?" Bootstrap marveled.

"Aye, a beaut, that one," young Benjamin chimed in.

"Nearly perfect," I said, glancing at Scarlett, who watched the ship grimly. "But, she's not half the ship that the _Pearl _is," I reminded.

My faithful crewmen nodded and Scarlett merely smiled.

We approached a pier farther inland than most of the ships and after Bootstrap, Scarlett, and myself had disembarked, I directed Benjamin to keep close. We headed toward the bustling port town.

"I didn't see any _Rover_ out in them waters, Cap'n," Bootstrap ventured.

I turned to him. He'd never given me any reason to mistrust him the way Barbossa had, but I was hesitant to disclose my plans to him, all the same. "Well, I thought I'd do some asking, maybe some listening. And, besides, Scarlett wanted to come ashore and see if Nassau will serve as her new home, savvy?"

The tall quartermaster nodded and held mum any further questions. It wasn't long before we found a busy tavern called the Lonesome Mary on the main drag through town.

"Looks like the place for me, eh Captain?" Scarlett inquired.

"It definitely looks like the place for me," Boostrap put in as a few whores beckoned and called from a flimsy balcony.

I nodded and we entered the establishment. It was crowded and malodorous, as most taverns usually are. However, there was a peculiar hush about this place. I soon located the cause.

A tall pirate sat in a nest of the tavern's finest-looking whores. They all cooed at him, vying for his attention. His head was tipped away from me, very nearly ensconced in a pair of giant breasts that were ready to tumble forth from the owner's bodice. When he turned to another prostitute, this one draped about his shoulders, I saw his face. I recoiled at the sight, as did Bootstrap. Scarlett held firm, but she did grab hold of my arm for support.

The man's face was horribly scarred and brown on the left side and an empty eye socket gaped, revealing charcoal black flesh beyond. His nose seemed to have sunk into his face, for it was merely a smear in the mess of scar tissue. The left side of his mouth was pulled back into a permanent leer, revealing black teeth. The right side of his face seemed intact, as did his right eye. But the left was so horrible, I couldn't imagine many people to notice that side. As Scarlett had said in her tattooing hut, he had a long grey beard that reached nearly to his stomach. He also wore a curly white wig, as well as very fine clothes.

I finally tore my eyes away from the scene before me and pulled my companions toward a table.

"Thats him," I said with certainty. Scarlett nodded. "Great," I said without conviction.

Bootstrap raised an eyebrow at me, "Why is that great? Do you know him?"

I sighed gave Bootstrap a weary grin, "No, Bill, but we're going to make a friend tonight."

Bootstrap and Scarlett just stared at me as I told them my plan.


	13. A Line is Drawn

"It's not a very sophisticated plan, is it?" Scarlett asked sardonically.

I patted her arm, "Now, love, you know as well as I that you catch more flies with honey. And, there isn't a girl in this place that's got more honey than you," I prodded. She only glared.

"Really, Jack, that's not a compliment. But," she threw a cursory glance at Bellamy, "I want him dead or as good as, so I'll do my part. You'll do yours?"

Bootstrap nodded gravely, "You've my word, Miss Scarlett."

"Oh, grand, a pirate's word," she huffed, but without malice. She gave us one last sigh before standing. With a great fluff of her hair and flounce of her skirts, she was off in the direction of the horrid captain.

Bootstrap and I concentrated on not watching her and drawing as little attention to ourselves as possible. Meanwhile, Scarlett passed in front of Bellamy, close enough to get his attention, but far enough away for him to be interested. She choose a table in his line of sight and pretended to ignore him.

As I had anticipated, the captain only wanted the best. I watched as he shook of the whores that fawned about him. When he stood, I could see that he was extremely tall. There were few men who stood above me, save for my Carib crewman, Aciguato. But I figured that Bellamy would have been at least a head above me.

I also saw that he led something along behind him on a short gold chain. The huddled little mass was so slight and bent that it was hardly distinguishable from Bellamy's great coat. But, I could see that it had legs and arms. It was a boy. I grinned at Bootstrap.

The captain crossed the crowded room, stepping nimbly over a fallen drunk. The little bundle crept along close, never separating by more than a few inches, even though the tall man moved quickly. I was suddenly nervous about how sure-footed the man was. Perhaps he wasn't as sotted as he'd appeared. But, as he crashed into a chair across from Scarlett, I had all the evidence I needed. Bootstrap nodded at me and stood.

I watched, inconspicuously, as Phineas Bellamy leaned across the low plank table to peer at Scarlett. From a distance, she looked like she was acting the coquette, bowing her head and covering her mouth in response to things he must have been saying. But I knew her actions were to hide the revulsion she must have felt. Whatever the act, it was working. The ugly captain was falling all over himself to touch her.

He never got the chance. Bootstrap crossed the room and hauled Scarlett out of her chair by her upper arm. I heard him rage drunkenly from my seat, "Oi! What are ye doin' wit' 'im, ye whore? Cain't I leaves ye alone fer any bit o'time afore ye open yer legs to summat other than me?" He took her other arm in his massive grip and shook her.

She opened her eyes wide, seemingly frightened. I would have enjoyed the little act, had I not had anything riding on it. Of course, the rest of the tavern's patrons had no such problem and had quieted to watch the exchange. One man even hollered out to Bootstrap, "Give it to 'er good, mate! Teach 'er a lesson she ain't likely ta forget!"

Bootstrap began pulling Scarlett toward the open doors when Bellamy stood, upending the small table before him, as well as his chair. He unsheathed his sword from his right side and spoke. His voice was otherworldly. It was dead calm, but carried with it a note of violence and terror that set my hackles up. "Let the lady go. I was discussing a business arrangement with her."

Bootstrap turned and faced down the sword, "Oh yeah? Well, she already had a 'rangement wit' me."

He pressed the point of his sword closer to Bootstraps's throat. "No one gets in the way of Captain Phineas Bellamy," the tall man explained, placing the tip so close to my crewman, I saw Bill's skin indent. "No one."

I stood and strode to the little meeting, placing myself an ample distance from Bellamy's sword, but close enough to disarm him. Before Bellamy could ask who I was, I spoke, "If I may, Captain. I am a Captain myself. And, if you'll allow my to sort out my errant crew, here, I'll pay for the whore myself."

"And what, pray tell, prompts this little show of generosity?" he asked, his tone icy. Bootstrap backed away from the longsword as I distracted the captain.

I began, "Well, you know, good crew is so hard to come by in these waters - "

"Sailors are sailors, Captain. One is as good as the next, as long as they are properly disciplined," he replied. He was no longer focusing on my quartermaster, so I consider my offer accepted.

I shrugged, "Well, perhaps to a prolific man of the sea such as yourself, eh? But, to a no account Captain such as _my_self, I'm only as good as my crew," I glanced at Bootstrap, throwing him an angry glare, "But, I shall see my man, er, 'properly disciplined.' Now, about my offer?"

"I will accept," the tall man answered and sheathed his sword. I did my best to hide my relief. "Whore, come," he beckoned.

I pressed closer to him, "Surely, Captain Bellamy, you'll allow me the great honor of first buying you a bottle of the tavern's finest? I must hear all about you, " I implored, hoping that the man's vanity and level of drunkenness would allow him to accept. I looked around and signaled a serving wench.

He wavered a moment, looking from me to Scarlett. "Well," he began, with one final leer at the redhead, "Of course you may. Anything you glean from me will be an improvement. Women can always wait, eh, my boy?"

This was going better than I had anticipated. Bootstrap made a show of slinking out through the front door and Scarlett accompanied us to a private table on the far side of the tavern. The maid brought us a dusty bottle of wine and two beakers. I found that as long as I stayed on Bellamy's right side, I could keep the evening's meal in my stomach. Unfortunately for Scarlett, she was forced to cuddle up the wretched left side. I tried my best to hurry the evening along, for her sake.

Bellamy proved to be quite vane indeed. He told me of several profitable escapades off of the coast of Africa and here in the Caribbean, none of which rang of truth. He went on and on about women he'd had, captains he'd bested, and cargoes he'd plundered. He never even asked my name or the name of my ship. I didn't dare mention the boy, even as he became more and more inebriated. We went through nearly six bottles of expensive French red, before he fell face down onto the plank table.

Scarlett and I exchanged a look over the fallen captain. She was looking very pale, but she smiled and produced a small, elaborately worked gilt key from between her breasts. "Shall we take what is rightfully ours, Captain?"

I smiled back at her and nodded. I slid beneath the table, mindful not to disturb the man more than necessary. Once I parted the soiled rags that covered the boy, I could see that he was probably closer to thirteen or fourteen, but extremely malnourished. He wore no garments, save the cape of rags and was as dirty and malodorous as his captor was clean and polished. He was hunched into a tiny ball, all bones and sharp angles and glared at me mistrustfully from beneath swollen lids. When I reached for the collar around his raw, red throat, he lunged at me.

Luckily, he was so slight and lacking in energy, he did little more than tumble into me. I caught him around the middle as he squirmed and mewled, horse little protestations. I hushed him by clamping my hand over his mouth. I unlocked the collar and tucked my coat around him. Scarlett chanced to peek down at me and I nodded towards the direction of the door.

By that time, the tavern had died down, only a group of three old salts in one corner were about and they were swaying, singing a soulful shanty that I didn't recognize. Even the barkeep had retired.

Scarlett and I made our way to the door with the squirming bundle, carefully stepping over fallen sailors and murky puddles of grog. As we slipped out into the town, the sun was lazily chasing the last star from the sky.

I looked at her, triumphant, though I had no idea about the state of the boy I carried, or even if it was the right boy. Instinct told me that it was, though. "Perhaps you should give up this life, my darling Scarlett, and take the stage, eh? You and Bootstrap could turn a fair profit, what with your combined talents," I offered, half-serious.

She smiled up at me, batting her lashes, "Well, be that as it may, I think I can earn a fair profit with my more obvious talents, don't you agree, Jack Sparrow?"

I grinned and said nothing. We made for the dock in companionable silence. We found Benjamin, half dozing in the longboat, tethered behind a long sloop. He woke upon seeing us and launched into an apology.

"Sorry, Cap'n. I tried to stay full awake, honest - " he began. I silenced him with a raise of my hand and a nod. I handed my bundle over to him.

The child had gone limp in my arms on our brisk walk to the pier. I knew the fight had gone out of him, almost sensing the moment he gave up, awaiting whatever new terror was before him. I had felt that way once, myself. At the sudden memory of my mother bundled in my coat and carried in the same manner as this frail boy, I wondered about his family and what had become of them.

As I released my burden to the coxswain, the memory left me as quickly as it had come. I felt Scarlett touch my sleeve and saw her tilt a concerned look up at me.

I smiled down at her, seeing once more the ghost of my mother in a fine burgundy gown. But, I shook my head and offered her my hand, "Shall we?"

She took my arm and boarded the small craft. I followed her in, rubbing the bridge of my nose. I really could have done with another drink, but figured I'd have to settle for some much-needed sleep once aboard the _Pearl._

We rowed to the vessel and boarded. I'd still not uncovered the boy, for I wanted to see the map for myself before I could share any news with Barbossa. But, he stood, waiting for me on the quarterdeck. He took in the bundle with a sweep of his eyes and a malicious grin. "Jack, welcome back. You've something to show us, then?"

It was already the middle of the morning watch, and much of the crew had gathered on deck after breakfast. They halted activity to watch me, staring speculatively at the bundled from in my arms,

I chose to ignore Barbossa's informal greeting, and wearily spoke, "Nothing, yet, mate," I evaded, making for my cabin. Barbossa stood before me, blocking my path.

"Come now, Jack. We've been waiting all night. Surely, you'll give us a taste of what's to come, then?" my first mate persisted. My gaze rested on the way his hand hovered near the hilt of his cutlass. I sighed.

"No. Scarlett and I mean to rest. You'll know all in a few hours," I moved to brush past him before commanding, "Make a heading for Nevis or thereabouts. I'd like as much sea between my ship and this port as possible before long."

Barbossa pulled his cutlass then. With the child occupying both of my arms, I was defenseless. I sighed, "What is it mate? Can't you see I'm tired?"

Bootstrap made his appearance then, trying to move between Barbossa and myself. However, Aciguato moved forward to restrain him.

"I can't let you go, Jack. The crew and myself have been talking. It seems they'd like a little reassurance of what we're heading into, eh?" my mate continued.

I stepped backwards as Scarlett stepped forwards. She was just behind me, and I felt her put her hands around the hilt of my cutlass. I bowed my head slightly and moved to offer the bundle to Barbossa.

He smiled, revealing ever more rotten-looking teeth that I'd noticed before. I wondered in that moment if it was possible for greed and pure evil to rot one from the inside out. He lowered his sword just as Scarlett unsheathed mine. She jumped from behind me, placing the tip of the cutlass at Barbossa's throat. The rest of the crew pressed closer. It was obvious that they had chosen Barbossa over me.

"Now, now, pet. Just let me have the Captain and I'll see that you get your reward," he stammered, staring at the red head, warily.

I stepped backwards again and found the handle to the door of my cabin and turned it. I snared Scarlett about the waist and pulled her with me into the room, barring the door as quickly as I could. I heard the roar of the crew outside the door and they began pounding on the oaken planks. I knew that within minutes, they would be upon us.

I unwrapped the boy. He was wide eyed, and paralyzed with fear. When Scarlett lit a lamp, I saw that he had abrasions and scars crisscrossing his chest and arms. Some still wept blood. Scarlett gasped.

"Bring a basin," I ordered. To the boy, I said, "It'll be okay. I'll free you. I just want to see the mark on your back, okay?"

He turned. There, in clear ink and unmarked flesh, was a large tattoo. The tattoo I had been hoping for. I didn't have time to celebrate, because I heard wood splinter behind me. I bundled him again in the jacket as Scarlett reappeared with the water. I pushed the boy into her arms and gestured to the stern windows.

I opened one and Scarlett immediately understood. She took the lead, stepping out onto the narrow ledge along the transom. She held her hands out and the boy followed. I don't know what made him trust her as he did, but I didn't have time to worry on it. I closed the window and crossed the room to await my crew.

Barbossa led the bunch, piling in as the door finally gave up its hinges. "Where is it, Jack?" he roared.

I glared angrily at the man, "Well, I don't have it any longer, thanks to you. The whore took the map and fled through the cabin windows. Now, I've no idea where to look and I'm sure we'll have a furious pirate captain on our tail in a matter of hours." I reached out and struck my first mate, angrily. I'd never struck a member of my own crew, and indeed, never found much use for the lash. But, in the face of the mutinous pirate, it felt good.

Barbossa looked angry enough to spit, but the rest of the crews blood was at such a high boil, they turned on him there, too.

Pintel, Barbossa's stooge, stepped from the angry group and faced my mate, "What'd ya do that fer, eh? We all knew the cap'n'd come through!"

I smiled inwardly, knowing it for a lie, but relishing it all the same. Barbossa blanched for a moment before turning back to me.

I spoke before he had the chance, "I should put the lot of you off my ship, but now, I have a need to keep the _Pearl_ in tact. Make haste away from here. Sail for Tortuga." I turned from them, hoping whatever authority I still had would outrank Barbossa. I felt that I didn't have long with him or the crew. But, they left my cabin hastily and Barbossa departed without a word.

Only Bootstrap lagged behind. "You know, Cap'n, the crew don't believe in ya anymore," he said. His voice was sad, as if he, too, sensed the end of something that had been great. I merely nodded.

Once he was gone, I turned my map table onto its end and pushed it against the open doorway. It wasn't perfect, but it would serve. I moved to the window and held out my hand. Scarlett took it and I pulled her and the boy back into the room.

I put my finger to my lips and urged them to be quiet. "We'll be in Tortuga before nightfall. I'll leave you both there, savvy?" I whispered. Scarlett nodded, her eyes wide with fear.

I placed my hand on her shoulder, "I'll provide for you both what I can," I offered, leading them both to my bunk. They climbed in.

They dozed quickly. While they slept, I sat at the bedside. I moved the boy to study his back. I saw he'd suffered worse abuses than a simple lashing. I though of Jean Roget, the manager from the Opera and my stomach soured. I was becoming too nostalgic for my own good today.

I covered him to the waist with the coverlet, committing as much of the map as I could to memory. I knew it wouldn't serve to copy it down for Barbossa to find.

Sure enough, we made port in Tortuga close to the end of the second dogwatch. I went onto the main deck. Many of my crew would not meet my eye. Barbossa was not among them.

"Why here? We've nothing to sell and we need nothing," he asked, crassly trying to belittle my orders in front of the rest of the crew.

I squared my shoulders and set my jaw, checking the desire to strike him once more. "They crew needs a little shore leave. After today's display, I can see that the stress of being at sea too long has strained all of us."

A general chorus of cheer went up among the crew. Barbossa's face only clouded over. "Well, it is my opinion that we should continue hunting for merchant ships, since your fanciful treasure hunt has amounted us nothing."

"Luckily for me, my opinion is the only one that counts," I answered dryly. I turned away from my mate to address the crew at large. "Men, have the next two days to yourselves. I'll expect you back on board at the first bell of morning watch... no, make it the last bell of morning watch on Friday."

They crew set about making fast the sails and setting everything to rights one last time before Barbossa could contradict me further and dampen my apparent good cheer. I turned back to my mate.

"Barbossa, I would like for you to try your hardest these next to days to find yourself another ship. If you cannot, I will not break my oath and you shall remain my first mate until such a time when I can visit our horde and buy your post back," I nodded curtly at him before returning to my cabin. I did not see my crew depart, or see where Barbossa went. I remained with my charges, still sleeping, until late into the night.

**XxXxX**

**Thanks to my sole reviewer, Miss Sirius... now, if anyone else has gotten this far, please, throw me a bone ;0)**


	14. Separation

_Sorry for the re-posting. I accidentally copied two chapters to this one... Enjoy!_

**XxXxXxX**

The sun had been gone for nearly two hours when I roused Scarlett and the child.

I let them eat what I had found below decks after the crew had departed and then I loaded them into the longboat and made for shore. There were few lights at the port, but I rowed clear of it to be safe and found a narrow strip of beach to land.

The trio of us walked quietly along the narrow and overgrown path I'd found in the scrub and trees that skirted the port and most of the city. I felt Scarlett's eyes on me several times, but she never spoke. She held the boy by the hand, and he walked beside her, his eyes on the ground.

I'd found him some breeches and a shirt on the _Pearl_, so he was covered at last. Now that he walking upright, he was easily as tall as the red haired woman, but even she probably outweighed him. I didn't know what language he spoke, or even if he was capable of speech, but he and Scarlett seem to have come to some silent understanding.

We wound our way past the winking lights of noisy port and up a small hill that overlooked most of the town. There was a church on this hill, and Port-Royal's cemetery, but few homes. The underbrush was thick and the footing was difficult. But, finally, we stopped before a humble structure, partially hidden by climbing ferns, yellow allamanda shrubs and purple orchids that had grown wild. The building was made of large stones, roughly cut, that had been bleached white in the hot Caribbean sun. The blocks glowed in the moonlight and the house seemed to give off light all its own.

"Welcome home, pet," I said quietly. I smiled down at Scarlett and she made a face at me that conveyed her skepticism. "Come along, but be careful not to make too much noise, eh?"

The two followed me, stepping where I did. I walked around to the back of the small building to a door. I had to rip off some fern and when I exposed the wood, it was so dark, I feared it had gone rotten since I'd last been there. It opened just the same, however. I stepped in, gesturing for them to stay back a moment. I looked around, and satisfied that no one had taken to living there in my absence and I beckoned for them to follow me inside.

In the center of the room was a small round table. It was heavy, and most likely made of mahogany and sat on a sturdy pedestal. Though, when I found it, it had been polished to a high sheen, it was now covered in a veil of grey dust. I swept my hand though the dust as I rounded the table. There was only one chair at the table. Its mate sat next to the fireplace. Along the far wall, away from the sole window, sat a low bedstead. There were no linens, but the tick mattress was serviceable.

I was pleased to see that it did not smell of mildew or mold. That proved that the roof was not leaking. The stonework around the hearth was unbroken, so I was certain none had come inside in my absence. I strode to the fireplace and pried loose one blackened stone from beneath some ash. There, just were I'd left it, was a leather pouch. I grinned.

"Come on, love, close the door. And, come see what Jack has got for you," I chirped. I was surprised that my little stash had survived. I rarely used the house, preferring the company of a fine female to the cold little place. But, it never hurt to have a hideout just in case.

Scarlett did as I asked and joined me. The boy was still clutching her hand, looking rather nervous at the change of scenery, I smiled at him as reassuringly as possible before I opened the woman's hand. Into it, I spilled a small cache of coins. They bore symbols from France, Holland, Spain, and England in all different years. But, they all spent the same.

A small sigh escaped Scarlett's lips as I closed her hand on the money. "I know it won't buy you the tattoo shop I promised," I began, watching her eyes watch me, "But it will keep you on your feet while you find yourself a niche here in Tortuga, eh?"

"Jack," she said, my name sounding like a prayer on her lips, "I can't - " I cut her off with a sharp shake of my head.

"Yes, you will. You two need it," I said firmly. Scarlett swallowed the rest of her protest and nodded. She blinked her eyes several times, but I still saw the tears forming there.

I stepped back, letting go of her warm hand in mine. The boy remained silent, staring gravely at me.

"I have to go," I announced, suddenly. "Got to keep up appearances in the taverns, then. My crew will wonder if I've gone soft if I don't join them, eh," I tried to laugh. The sound was wooden and pathetic. I turned to leave and Scarlett moved to stop me. She rested her hand on my sleeve.

"Will you come back?" she asked. Her eyes searched my face. I knew it would be senseless to smile. She'd know I was lying.

"I'm a pirate, Scarlett. I'll always find a reason to make berth in Tortuga."

"That's not what I mean," she argued.

I waited a beat before answering, "It's all I can promise." And,with that, I took my leave.

XxXxXxX

The next two days went by in a fog of rum and women. I did not travel back up the hill. I knew Scarlett could care for herself and the boy. After all, she'd been just fine when I found her in New Providence. And, as she'd put it, she had more going for her than most women in her place.

Still, she never quite left my head as I boarded the _Pearl_ late Thursday night. I probably did owe her more in the way of monetary reward than the little pouch I'd left her. After all, she'd done most of the work procuring the map. And, now, she was the only person, other than myself and Captain Phineas Bellamy that had seen it. As I took a long drink from the half-full bottle on the righted map table in my cabin, I promised myself I'd return to Scarlett and give her what was due once I'd found Cortés' treasure. I fell asleep feeling much better.

Of course, those feelings can never last as long as they ought to. The next day, at the last bell of the morning watch, I woke up to hands pulling my roughly from my chair. I'd fallen asleep at my map table, still holding the squat green bottle of rum. "Hey? What's all this?" I demanded. Aciguato was pulling me through the gaping doorway to the deck, "I must get that fixed," I thought aloud.

Out on the deck, I could no longer see Port-Royal. Rather, we were at sea. Aciguato released me with a great shove toward the mainmast. I stumbled, but remained upright. "What is going on, mate?" I demanded. My brain pounded in my skull and I felt slightly nauseated. Apparently, I'd taken more than my share of the drink. I turned the bottle, spout down, and nothing came forth. A lot more, then.

I turned to see most of the crew present on the deck, watching me. Most looked mildly curious, while some grinned anxiously. Finally, Barbossa pushed through their ranks. He smiled broadly at me. I grimaced. "Barbossa - " I started.

"It's Captain Barbossa, Jack," he barked. His response elicited laughter from the crew. I saw Bootstrap standing to the far left, not meeting my gaze. He was pale and looked withdrawn.

I raised my eyebrows. It wasn't hard to see what had happened, but I pressed on, "Is it now? Well, as this is _my _ship, I have to take issue with that."

"Oh, but it's not your ship any longer. But, it would break my heart to put you off of it, as your a good sailor, if a terrible pirate. So, as long as you'll cooperate, I'll keep you around," he smiled again, pushing his face close to mine. His breath was rank and his teeth a sight, but I stayed firm. "How does that sound, eh?"

"It sounds," I began, tapping my finger against my lip, as if in deep thought. "Well, it sounds," I continued, taking a quick step to the side and rounding on Barbossa. I drew my sword on the mutinous pirate, "Like nothing I'd be interested in."

"Men," Barbossa remarked, simply staring at my weapon. Two crewmen stepped forward and held me fast. Barbossa plucked the sword from my grasp and handed it to another member of the crew.

I was honestly shocked. "Oh," was all I could say. Barbossa laughed uproariously.

"You see, Jack, it's like I've been telling you. The crew want to pirate, eh? Not galavant after bedtime stories and make nice with the merchants," he began, stepping ever closer to me. "_I_ am pirate. And _I _am the Captain of the _Black Pearl_."

"Well, it's a shame that your crew has to miss out on the Aztec gold, then, eh? Because I found - " I started.

"A map?" Barbossa answered. At my surprised look, he laughed once more. "Aye, I know. Pintel!" he barked.

The man stepped forward, grinning maliciously. He dragged Benjamin behind him. The boy was stripped to the waist. He had bleeding lash wounds across his chest and arms. His right eye was swollen shut and turning an angry purple. He threw the boy at my feet. "Sorry, Cap'n," the coxswain whispered up to me. And, at that, Barbossa dealt him a fierce kick to the ribs that sent him sprawling across the deck.

"_I _am Captain, now, you insolent little dog!" the pirate raged down at the boy. I watched the event unfold, utterly disgusted. Barbossa turned to me.

"That, my friend, is how you punish errant crew members. You don't offer to buy the offended party a whore, Jack," he spat, grinning vilely.

I glanced at Bootstrap, who lowered his gaze once more. I swallowed hard and looked back at the so-called new Captain and he continued. "Of course I knew about the map. Why do you think I didn't kill you while you slept?"

"And what makes you think I'll tel you where to find the treasure," I asked.

He grasped my left arm and yanked out from the grasp of the crewman who held it. He pushed my sleeve up and drew a short brass dagger. Before I could react, he sunk it into the flesh at the crook of my elbow and dragged it down the inside of my forearm, stopping just short of slitting my wrist. I bit the cry of pain back and stared at the blood spilling copiously from the wound. I looked back up into the man's face. He smiled and simply ordered my captors, "To the brig with him."

XxXxXxX

I slipped in an out of consciousness for the rest of the day. I had a fever and I vomited up everything in my stomach. I shook violently when I was awake and thrashed in my sleep, though my limbs were heavy and weak. The only relief I felt came when I pressed my head against the cool bars restraining me. When I was lucid, I bandaged the wound. It wasn't deep, but I could tell the dagger had some more of poison on it, as it turned the veins in my forearm black.

When I slept, I had very vivid and very terrible dreams. My mother was in all of them, as a faceless Siren, calling to me from the cliffs of an island. She screamed for me, calling me Jack instead Jaques. Her contralto voice melted away my fear of her and I went onto her island. The horrors I encountered there changed with each dream, but after each, I woke up, sweating and in pain, working furiously at the golden bead that held my memory of her. I truly thought I would die on the floor of the cell in my beautiful ship.

I don't know how much time passed before I woke to find Bootstrap sitting outside of my cell. He had a bowl of thin broth and a ewer of fresh water. He made me drink both before he would let me talk, so I did.

"Am I going to die?" I asked bluntly as I choked down the remains of the broth.

"No. The poison on the dagger was only to scare you into obedience," he answered. His tone was level and I knew he was holding back his emotions.

I looked at my arm. The wound had stopped bleeding and now, all that remained was the darkened veins and a thin red line down the middle. "And, if I don't obey?"

"Then, I suppose, he'll begin to remove some of your more cherished bits," came the reply. I winced. Bill continued, his voice earnest, "Just tell him where the bloody treasure is, mate. It's not worth it."

I stared him straight in the eye, which was difficult as I was still having a hard time standing, let alone to my full height. He did not flinch, but I had not expected him to. "It might not matter, mate. For men like you and me, there is more treasure in the hunt than in the shine, eh? But, to men like Barbossa, there will never be enough bits of gold or enough jewels. So, this map is a matter of principle. And, while I may have frittered away most of my good morals and better qualities on drink and whoring, pirating remains my one principled aspect, savvy," I grinned, suddenly more sure of myself than ever before, "And, mark me, Barbossa might get the gold yet, but I'll win. I'm Captain Jack Sparrow. I always win."

"I hope ya do, Cap'n, honest I do," Bootstrap sighed. He looked towards the upper decks. "Barbossa has been me mate since we was just runts an' I never seen him this way." He smiled wanly at me and bent to pick up my tray. Before I even knew what I was doing, I reached through the bars and unsheathed Bootstrap's sword. He stood, surprised.

I pointed it at him, coming within a hair's breadth of his shirtfront. "I don't want to do this, mate. But, desperate times and all that. Just unlock the cell, eh?"

He stared at me, wide eyed. I knew he doubted that I'd hurt him, but wasn't about to take any chances. He let go the tray with one hand, balancing it in the other and showed his palm as a sign of good faith. I backed off, but kept the cutlass leveled at his gut. He moved delicately, revealing a ring of keys from his belt. He didn't fumble them, and I had to give him credit. He inserted the key in the lock and turned it. The rusty tumblers shrieked protest and I stayed Bill's hand through the bars.

I offered him the sword, hilt first, "That's all. I just want the element of surprise when Barbossa comes down, eh. I'm not fol enough to think I can best the whole crew."

He took it and sheathed it. "I won't say nothing, Cap'n. But, I won't stand by and watch you kill me mate, know that."

I nodded and Bootstrap took his leave of me. I knew he'd be as good as his word, so I sagged against the timbers of my ship and slunk to the floor. I finally enjoyed a dreamless sleep.

The sound of boots falling on the stairs roused me. I laid still on the floor, my hat over my eyes. Hector Barbossa's voice rang out, grating against the inside of my skull like alley cats screaming outside of a whorehouse. "Get the hell up, Jack!"

I didn't remove my hat, choosing to speak from beneath it, instead. "I'm your prisoner, Barbossa, not your slave, eh?"

"You'll do as I say!" he raged. I could tell without looking that he was in a high dither over something. I grinned.

"And just what would make me do that? You've certainly given me no incentive to be friendly," I stated, enjoying the ire I was helping to stoke.

He leveled a kick at the cell's door, causing it to rattle on its hinges. I was glad it didn't fall open. "You'll be doing what I say unless you want another bite from my knife, eh?" he seethed.

Finally I tipped my hat up to peer at him. His face was red. He was without his elaborate hat and coat. His shirtsleeves were rolled past his elbows, revealing ink stains.

"Little trouble with the maps, eh?" I asked, gleeful. The maps I'd spent hours drawing and pouring over would most likely vex anyone who wasn't me. I'd intended it that way.

"Where is the boy, Jack?" he barked at me.

Finally I got to me feet, taking my time to brush bits of hay and dirt from my already-filthy coat. Barbossa let go a little growl and I smiled at him. "What boy might that be?"

"The boy with the map!" came his reply. His voice practically shook the bulwarks. I merely stood there, looking innocent.

"How should I know? I told you, you scared him off."

"I should have killed you when I met you," he hissed. His fists were balled tightly at his sides and the veins in his neck stood out. For all the world, he looked like a fishwife who found herself on the wrong side of her skirts.

I laughed at him. "That's your mistake, then. I can't be held responsible."

He reached out for me through the bars of my cell and I leapt back out of his reach. "You'll tell me where to find the gold, or so help me, I'll see you dead at my feet."

I leaned back against the planks of the hull, feeling the strength of the water behind me. I made no reply.

He bit out a vicious curse and turned, stomping back up the stairs.

"I've seen braver displays from whores, mate!" I called after him. I chuckled to myself as I awaited his next visit.

It didn't come until the next day. Or, at least, I think it was the next day. Time passed strangely when you couldn't see the sun or the moon.

Barbossa stomped back down to my cell, Aciguato in tow. The big man wrenched the bars from their hinges. _Threatening Bootstrap had been in vain_, I thought to myself as the Carib entered the cell and lifted me. He pushed me out onto the floor in front of him. "Walk," he barked, pointing at the stairs.

"Any other options, eh, mate?" I inquired. He raised his hand as if to strike me. "Walk. Yes. Walk it is, then."

Barbossa led, a mean little smile on his face. When I poked my head above deck, I could see that the sun was about sunk into the ocean. Off the port bow, I could see a little strip of land. We had made anchor.

"You found the treasure, eh? Good for you, always knew you could," I congratulated Barbossa. He turned on me.

"No, Jack. I've given you time to talk. Now is your last chance before we show you to your new home," he grinned at me.

The rest of the crew looked on, eager to hear my reply.

I folded my arms over my chest and assessed the new Captain. "My new home, eh? Awfully nice of you, considering."

"Considering what?" he asked, his smile fading by degrees.

"The curse. I mean the gold is cursed, isn't it, mate?" I asked, looking back at Aciguato. He did not answer.

"I know all that, you fool," Barbossa spat. "Somehow, a curse laid upon gold by some pagan god don't hold water. So, if you'll be so kind as to help me with the coordinates, I won't have to see you off that there plank, eh, Jack?"

I smiled strode to the plank in question. I stood up on it. Barbossa deflated before my eyes. "I'll be needing the usual, then." I stated.

Bootstrap stepped forward, holding my pistol. "Don't do it, Jack. Just give us the damn heading!"

"Yes, Jack, the heading. And, like you said, there'll be enough gold for you to buy a new ship, I'll fancy," Barbossa added. He paused, as if considering, "If I decide to give you your equal share, that is. I mean, you haven't been doing your fair share these past three days, have you?" The crew laughed.

I reached forward and plucked the pistol from Bootstraps hand and took a step back on the plank. The crew pressed forward with a gasp. "Oh, gentlemen, I didn't know I was so dear to you all." I took another step. "Barbossa, I won't be parting with the information you're in need of, but thank you for the gracious accommodations aboard _my_ ship." I pressed backward with my foot and found the end of the plank. I stepped to it. "Remember this day, mates. The deepest circle of hell is reserved for betrayers and mutineers!" And with that, I executed a deep bow, turned, and dived into the deep.


	15. A Pirate in Transition

As I watched the _Pearl _sail toward the horizon, I did not wallow in pity for myself. Instead, I combed the narrow spit of sand on which I had been marooned. After all, it was I who had earned the_ Pearl_ and, thus, it was _my _horizon that the crew was sailing towards. Surely the Fates would see me through. If, that is, the Fates read "earned" as "extorted." But, that's only semantics.

As far as I could tell, this island was inhabitable. I could see straight through the thin smattering of palms that covered the middle of the cay and it only took me about fifteen minutes to complete its circumference. And that was at a leisurely stroll.

However much time I had before me, I still could not afford leisure. I needed food, clean water ad the most important comestible substance I had yet encountered – "Rum." I spoke the last aloud as though the request might be granted.

I sunk down against the base of a sun-bleached palm. And then I came upon a rather odd sight for an uninhabited island: a bit of shine. I crawled toward the gem, sparkling amidst the white sand and green scrub growing through it. I lifted it from the sand and saw that it was a ring. The face was a poorly rendered skull of some crude silver material. The face bore a red chip of a gem in one eye socket. The other was empty and most likely, the matching jewel had fallen out. But, the most eye catching bit was a clear gem between the skull's teeth. A diamond, no doubt.

"Great, this means one of two things," I pondered aloud, "Either whomever frequents this island has no taste in jewelry or the person to whom it belongs does _not _frequent this island." I sat down there in the sand and laughed. "And, now I'm thinking out loud. Wonderful, Jack, you actually _are_ as crazy as you pretend to be." But then, I stopped laughing. My laugh sounded strange to my ears. My sandy surroundings should have absorbed my laughter. Instead, it was echoed back to me. And, with my knowledge of acoustics, that meant one thing. There was something hollow somewhere nearby. I began to dig.

It didn't take me long to find a narrow door beneath a few feet of sand. I brushed it off and saw that it bore no symbol. I smiled. Pirates, then. Of course, who else would wear an ugly skull with a missing eye?

I pried the box open and discovered at least a dozen glittering green and brown bottles. "Wishes do come true!" I crowed, pulling out as many as I could. I uncorked one to find it full to the brim with that soothing brown libation that I love the most. I took a drink and sat back down. "Not pirates, then. Rum runners. An equally tasteless bunch. But, now, at least I know I only have to wait for them."

I didn't care if I was talking to myself. I had rum. I set about building a fire and I sharpened a long thin branch and caught some dinner.

And then, I laid back and reveled in the quiet for three days.

**XxXxXxX**

"Oi! What d'you think yer doin'?" came a gruff baritone voice. I cracked open one eye, groaning as my brain was flooded simultaneously with the hot Caribbean sun and the disgruntled expression of a burly rum runner. And, a pistol aimed at the family jewels. I sat up.

"I was sleeping it off, as it were. And yourself?" I asked, innocently eying the firearm.

"Sleepin' off _my_ profits, eh?" the man barked. I inched away. The barrel of the pistol followed.

I opened my mouth to reply, when another male voice came from my left. "Brucks! The stash is here. It's been tampered with."

Brucks lowered the pistol as he glanced toward the direction of the shout. I took the opportunity to move out of its direct path.

I stood taller than the rum runner by at least a head, but he outweighed me by my own weight. I drew my cutlass. "I'd be the tamperer, mate. And, were it not so valuable a substance what was tampered with, I'd reimburse you for the tampering," I began, successfully regaining Brucks' attention. He noted my weapon and adjusted the aim of his own.

"You ain't got to worry 'bout re- er, rein- well payin'," he stuttered, growing angrier over his inability to repeat me. I grinned.

"Well, sir, that's awfully nice of you. Perhaps you can help me off this island?" I asked, making to sheath my sword.

"We ain't square!" he retorted. I raised my eyebrows and kept my sword out. "What I mean ta say is I'll be takin' payment from yer scrawny backside." He cackled at me.

I looked over my shoulder to assess the aforementioned body part. "Scrawny it may be, mate. But, I have something of value that might settle the debt and buy me passage aboard your ship."

"I don't regularly enjoy the company of men if that's what yer steerin' at," came the reply. I wrinkled my nose at his foul suggestion and the even fouler image that danced through my head.

"Well, whatever it is you do regularly is not of my concern. But, I have a feeling one of your crew lost a bit of shine on the last visit to this little cay, eh?"

The big man looked down at his own hand. Sure enough, there was a white band around the pudgy little finger of his left hand.

"I assume, then, that I'd be right?" I ventured.

"Me weddin' ring," came Brucks' quiet reply. I rolled my eyes. I should have known. I couldn't imagine what the ring's giver must look like.

I held up the object in question. "Love is certainly a beautiful thing. So, are my terms fair?"

Brucks lifted his shaggy head. Tears sparkled in the corners of his eyes, but his expression had turned hard. "You ain't got no terms. I can kill you right now and take my ring back."

I pulled my pistol from the waistband of my breeches and aimed it at the rum bottles Brucks' flunkies had been unloading from the hole in the sand. "If you take one step toward me in a manner I deem unkind, I'll blow your payload and the rest of us off of the green earth."

"You wouldn't kill yourself," the big man scoffed.

"Wouldn't I? Do you know what three days marooned on an island does to a man?" I demanded, shaking the pistol at the mound of glass bottles. The men who'd been unloading them halted and stared at their boss and me. I continued, upping the ante with a few wild gestures for their benefit. "I was left with a single shot with which to put myself out of my misery. And, I was planning on doing it this very morning. I wouldn't mind a little company when I march up to Satan's door, savvy?"

Brucks lowered his own weapon, "Don't do it, mate. You give me my ring back and we'll sail today. Okay?"

I lowered my pistol, sheathed my cutlass, and tossed the ring at him with a grin. "Excellent plan." I walked away from the dumbfounded rum runner and toward the longboat on the shore.

**XxXxXxX**

Three days later, I found myself in Tia Dalma's hut. She's spent the better part of my visit consoling me in a way that only she knew. And, I just let myself forget about my ship, the mutiny, the lost chance at treasure. I just wrapped myself up in her.

She, however, would not allow it.

Even as she caressed the side of my face, so gently that her hands felt unreal, she snapped, "You cannot waste like dis, Jack Sparrow. Your Fate is not an idle one."

I shrugged, disconsolately. "No use, Tia Dalma. My pirating days are over. I had a good run, though, eh?" I was being childish and I knew it. But, it felt better to act stubborn and selfish than dare to think I could face the seas again.

Sh pushed me off of her, an outward sign of her obvious disgust. I didn't blame her. I was disgusted with myself. "You cannot walk 'round me bayou wit' dem ghosts in your eyes an' dat 'poor Jack' way o' t'inkin'. My mama would 'ave laid her life down for dat Captain o' yours, and he laid down him life for you. You'd best t'ink again about wastin' away here wit' me, Jack Sparrow."

"But, I love you, Dalma."

"You don't love no one 'cept yo'self," she replied, calmly. When I would have argued, she simply raised a staying hand. I closed m mouth, knowing that she was right. "Don'. It is who you are now. I didna say you would not love or tha' you couldna love. I jus' say dat you do not. You jus' lack direction now, eh, Jack?"

I shrugged, noncommittal. The fact was, I was restless. I had no prospects or plans. The last time I'd been like this was my childhood, before I'd been hurried out my door in that carriage taking me to England. Since then, I had been a man of action. I'd never dithered.

Dalma grinned at me, "Ah, Jack. You forget yourself. I can See t'ings you cannot." She turned in a flurry of mouldering petticoats, her dress long forgotten in a heap on the floor. I couldn't help myself the indulgent stare at her retreating form.

"I can see 't'ings', too, Dalma," I said, quite beneath my breath.

Dalma turned, with another smile. She had something in her hand and she held it out to me. It was a small octagonal box. I reached to take it and she closed her fist over it.

"Not all of my gifts come wit'out a price, Jack," she reminded me, playfully holding the object close to her generous bosom.

"And what is it that I, Captain Jack Sparrow, can do for you?" I asked, insinuating myself closer to her. I spun her around and dropped a hot kiss on her bare throat. She whimpered a little before pulling away.

"The payment is fair," she conceded with a grin. She opened my hand and dropped the box into it. I looked at the peculiarly carved object for a moment. "Open it, Jack. Twon't do no good jus' sittin' der," the mystic urged. I obeyed.

Beneath the cover was a spinning needle and the markings of a traditional compass. However, the compass did not stop spinning in a lazy back and forth way. Finally, it rested between the markings for northeast and east.

"I thank you, Dalma. But, I think it's a bit, er, off?" I ventured, not wishing to incur her ill-will.

She grinned and took it back. While it rested in her palm, the arrow spun a few arcs and rested decisively in the opposite direction. It pointed right at me. I puzzled a bit longer before finally giving in, "What's the trick, love?"

"No trick, Jack. Dis compass shows where yer heart truly lies," came the riposte. I checked the arrow again and took it from her. The compass' needle, true to her word, landed pointing directly at her.

"I like it," I murmured as she wrapped her lithe form onto mine and pushed me back to her little nest at the back of the hut.

**XxXxXxX**

The compass led me, all right. It led me right back to Tortuga. Unfortunately, it landed me in Scarlett's path.

"How dare you come back to me without that treasure. I risked my life for it!" the redhead raged. I dodged a sauce pot the came flying at my head and winced as hit the wall behind me with a resounding clatter.

"And I didn't, love? Are you forgetting that I lost my ship? My _Pearl_, love!"

"I don't care about your bloody boat, Jack. You promised me coin to take care of me and Christian!"

"Christian? Isn't that a bit ironic?" I replied. It was obviously the wrong thing because another pot sailed at me from across the room.

"It was my brother's name, God rest him," she came back. Her fury was dying, and I felt sorry for her. I had run across her outside of a tavern as she pulled her skirts back down after a quick job between two buildings. Her cheeks burned hot red and tears streaked the Kohl around her eyes. But, her shame and sorrow had turned to rage when she saw me.

Against her wishes, I'd followed her back to the hovel she'd been living in. One wall was covered with found bits of moldy wood, most likely scavenged from other broken down homes. The other three were whole, but not much better. She had two piles of odious rags that seemed to serve as bedding for her and the boy, and little else.

"Where is he now?" I asked, noting her quiet stare. "Christian?" I clarified.

"He stays with a beggar woman I met while I work. He helps her by making sure no one steals whatever coin she's given." She laughed. It was dry and cold. It made the hair on the back of my neck prickle. "You see what I've been reduced to? I had a reasonably good life in Santiago. And now, I have to whore myself morning and night to keep mine and the child in scraps."

"I'm sorry, Scarlett... I just thought-" I began. She cut me off with another sharp laugh.

"No, Jack, you didn't. You just took." She pushed me out her door and let it swing shut. Feeling like the worst kind of cad, I dug into my pockets and withdrew a small bag of silver. I pushed it through a crack in the door and turned on my heel toward the port.

Here's a tip: the best way to get off an island if you don't have a ship of your own is to find a rig sailing out of Tortuga post-haste. They usually aren't looking for the best sailors and don't usually care to know your name.

That's how I ended up on the _Vajrayana_, an Indian merchant ship bound for its home country. I didn't care. My compass continued to point to the horizon, so I let it carry me. On board, only one other crewman spoke English.

Kavi wasn't much like any of the men he was sailing with. His eyes were a peculiar shade of brown, a spicy cinnamon color like the hide of chestnut mare. His jaw was strong and he was built sturdily. He stood at my equal height. He said it was because his father had been an English missionary, attempting to convert his village to Christianity. Instead, he ended up the converted and had married his mother in a Buddhist temple. And that's how he came to know English. As helpful as Kavi had proven to be to me, he was a terrible sailor, preferring to talk about his travels and ask me about my own than to attend his work.

On our fifth day at sea, the islands of the Caribbean behind me at last, Kavi and I were scheduled for the forenoon watch together. The quartermaster had instructed Kavi and I mend a line that had snapped high atop the mizzenmast. Kavi and I were expected to climb to the line, and while hanging from the rigging, braid the line back together. It normally wouldn't have been a two person job, but I didn't complain. I didn't even know how to talk to the captain, anyway.

Kavi climbed up ahead of me and was going to hold the sailcloth steady while I unhooked the line and performed the task. Of course, he chattered away at me when we'd reached the top.

"I can't imagine what it would have been like, facing down a mutiny. I wish I had met up with you when you were a captain, Jack."

I grinned at him, "Or, maybe you wouldn't have wanted to, mate. I was a much less likable man if I happened to have a cutlass at your throat, savvy?" I answered, beginning to weave the rope back together.

"Yes, but you don't understand how it is. I came to the Caribbean to find my Fortune, and here I am, sailing for home with nothing."

"You've got a good story, though. That's worth a lot," I answered, not really paying him much mind. Mostly, I had learned it was just easier to let the man talk.

Suddenly, a great gust of wind kicked up and the sail pushed out. I had been prepared, but Kavi had not. He let go the sailcloth and tumbled from his perch on the mast. I caught him around the forearm and he reached up to grasp my wrist as tightly as he could. Hanging from the mast as I was, I could not let go with that hand, and I hadn't the strength to haul him up.

"Just let me go, Jack!" He called up. Even as he said it, I knew I could not drop him. He hadn't the skill to grasp the dangling sail and slide down to the deck. And I wasn't about to lose my only means of communication with the crew and be responsible for a man's death in the same shot.

"Can't do it, mate. Just hold on," I called. In one motion, I let go of the mast and jumped onto the flapping sail. As I started to slide down, I noticed I as going much too fast with the added weight, so I pulled a dagger from within my belt and dug it into the cloth, slowing us down considerably. We landed safely on the deck at the captain's feet. As I had expected, he was not happy at the damage done to his sail.

He said something sharply in Hindi and two of the crew pulled me towards the mast. The divested me off my shirt and I readied myself for the bite of the lash. Though I'd never experienced it, I had seen the after effects, so I knew it wouldn't be pleasant. I closed my eyes and bit my lower lip as I heard the whine of the leather as it was raised and began it's fall toward my naked flesh.

However, when it made contact, I felt nothing. I turned to look behind me. Kavi was standing in the way, facing the bosun and the captain. He had left his powerful forearm to catch the sting of the lash.

The captain roared again in Hindi and Kavi responded in kind. The captain addressed the men holding me and they pushed me away. Kavi took my spot.

"Kavi? What the bloody hell are you doing?" I demanded, though it was quite clear.

"It wasn't your fault, Jack," he answered, wincing as the bite of the lash fell across his back. I made a move to block the second, but one of the crew restrained me. The man, who Kavi had pointed out as one of the master gunners shook his head to discourage me. I took it for sound advice, even as I looked on to see my only friend fall to his knees.

After the fourth lash, the captain laid a staying hand on the bosun's arm and spoke to him in Hindi. The bosun shouldered the whip and the rest of the crew followed suit, returning to their tasks. I went to Kavi's side. The captain approached and spoke in Hindi. I looked blankly at him and he tapped the mast and pointed to the torn sail. I nodded at him, but then pointed at Kavi then to the door leading below decks. The captain responded with a single nod and went back to take the helm.

The rest of the journey passed uneventfully. Kavi and I remained close and I taught him all I could about sailing. And, as we navigated around the horn of Africa and sailed north toward India, he told me what he could about life in India. His knowledge was limited to what he'd known growing up in a mountain village, but it helped.

But, as we approached our destination, we were beset by the worst sort of seafaring opportunist: the East India Trading Company.


	16. A Gentleman Once More

**A/N: It's been a long time coming, I know. No excuses.**

**XxXxXxX**

Hooks and lines were sent across to the _Vajrayana_'s starboard side, and boards were laid between our bulwarks. A well-dressed young white man strode across one of the planks. He looked as confident as a rooster who found himself inside a hen house and was just about as tall.

He jumped down onto the deck and glanced around. "Does anyone speak English aboard the vessel?" he bit out in a clipped and impatient tone.

Kavi nudged me forward and I found myself looking down at the man. He was paunchy and pale which is a rarity for the seafaring sort. Somehow, I couldn't imagine the little man holding a line or mending a sail, so I took him to be the captain, if only in title.

"I do. What can we do for you?" I asked, keeping my usually swaggering speech a little more clipped. I felt the air stir beside me. The captain had joined me.

"You can surrender the ship and her contents so that we can be on our way quickly," the man returned, sizing each of us up in one glance. I repressed the sudden urge to shove him overboard.

"And, just who might you be to give us such orders?"

"Not that you are worth my breath, but you can call me Beckett. I am an admiral for the East India Trading Company. And, I am the man who will help you lighten this hulking load considerably," he gestured haughtily over his shoulder and his crew began to board us.

"Well, my good man, I must apologize if I don't see it that way," I replied. And while he merely sent me a withering glance, I drew my cutlass on him. And, before I could blink, his officers were on me.

"Don't try to get in my way. I am weary of the sea and wish to be at port soon," the short man tossed over his shoulder carelessly as he crossed one of the planks.

"Some admiral you are then, mate!" I called after him.

Without even sparing me a glance, he called back to the men who restrained me, "Kill him." And, with that, he strutted into the main cabin and slammed the door.

More angry at the slight than the worried over the prospect of death, I struggled against my captors. Years at sea, and the more recent months hard at work on deck had made me quite strong and I wrested from them easily.

I was now without a weapon as I backed up against the ship's port side. I glanced over the shoulder of one of Beckett's men advancing on me. Kavi was following him with a drawn sword. Behind the other, the captain had a length of rope. I grinned.

"Come now, gents, this is no way to greet a countrymen who's been without a common fellow to speak with in months. Perhaps your captain could use the help on board?"

The me looked at one another. The taller of the two halted and said, "Well, the cap'n did mention needing' some help."

"Yeah, but not from the likes of pirates," replied his sensible friend.

Kavi and the Indian captain took used the time I bought stalling to attack. And, as the rest of Beckett's crew saw two of their men felled, they dropped their task and took to arms. Since I was still without a weapon, I slipped through the quarreling bodies and slipped aboard the East India Trading Company's fine vessel.

Once on deck, I acted quickly. I barricaded the main cabin door with a heavy barrel that had been carelessly left out. Obviously, Beckett wasn't the most able admiral. I grinned and said aloud, "Well, I'm glad I found the opportunity to help someone less fortunate." I turned and whistled toward the _Vajrayana._ When no one looked up at my summons, I dumped the planks between our ships and released the lines. I called for Kavi once more, but to no avail. He was hacking away at any Englishman that fell into his path.

It was a difficult thing to pilot a large vessel on one's own. However, nothing was beyond my reach when I desired it, so I found myself doing quadruple duty as a captain, helmsman, deckhand, and watch.

Beckett never even bothered to try to venture out of his cabin. I assumed that he was quite used to not doing work. So, undisturbed, I steered the vessel to port. A rowed ashore alone, leaving the imperious young admiral to his own devices.

I snaked my way out of a confrontation with an Indian harbor master by feigning violent illness. It helped me also to push through the crowd into the bustling seaport.

It was as busy and unfamiliar a place as any port I'd been in. Though the motions resembled life as I'd known it, nothing could fully prepare me for the colors and smells of the Indian port. Coriander, saffron, and tamarind. Bold fuchsia, vivacious yellow, and eye-popping teal. They swirled around me in a way that washed out browns of a port in the Caribbean never had. In the Caribbean, the colors were all at sea. Here, the water was a slate color and the land held riches. I grinned.

Unsure of my direction and purpose, I dove into the place as though I belonged there. With my sun bronzed skin and dark looks, not many people gave me a second glance.

However, my anonymity didn't last into the day. I'd just sat myself down to some ill-gotten morsel of what I assumed to be chicken. The aroma was heavy but divine. I also snatched a bottle of something that smelled like coconuts but tasted more like very rich white rum. I was beginning to think the compass that Tia Dalma had "traded" me was a very wise mechanism when I heard someone call out in English from across the square, "There! That's him!"

As I dared to lift my gaze, hoping against hope that there was another man in the square who'd angered a haughty Englishman. Apparently, I was alone in that offense and two men in red coats seized me up and dragged my to my feet, successfully spilling my supper.

"Thanks, mates, I hadn't really planned on eating that," I muttered dryly. They remained silent. But, I received an answer from the man before me. Beckett.

"Be glad you've not been run through," he clipped out. I was surprised that he remained so calm. He struck me as the sort of man to pitch a fit. But, there'd be plenty of time for analysis later.

I clasped my hands together in apparent obeisance. "I am, sir. Quite pleased. Might I be so bold as to inquire why you've left me unscathed?" I threw a quick glance at one of my captors. He stared straight ahead.

"If you can behave yourself, I'll have them release you. If not, I have irons," he remarked, turning from me. The men dragged me along behind him.

"I think I can manage on my own," I began, eying the men's weapons furtively.

"We shall see," was his only reply. We marched on through the square, my stomach rumbling mournfully.

"So, where might we be going?" I called from behind him.

The short man stopped and turned abruptly. Apparently, my two friends had been expecting it, because they also stopped short, leaving me to practically run into Beckett. "Keep the questions to a minimum. And, by minimum, I do mean that if you ask any more questions of me, I shall muzzle you. And then, I will take great pleasure in killing you myself. Understand? Or, must I act it out for you?"

Rather than throwing a scathing retort back at him, I nodded. It was in my best interest if he thought I was a artless rube.

We quickened our pace and before long, arrived at a rather ostentatious manse. The house was a salmon color and white woodwork highlighted the colonnades that lined the veranda. It would not have looked out of place in London, save for the putrid color. I merely smirked as I was dragged up thirty wide stairs to the porch.

The door was opened from within. Beckett pushed through the door, barely taking in the staff nervously lined up in the hall. A tall, rail thin man approached him from the line and offered his a glass of ruby liquid.

"Master Becket, sir?" the man asked.

Apparently, that was all that needed said as Beckett replied "My study."

The goons that had dragged me through the street abruptly departed through the open door and Thin Man approached me warily. I have a feeling that if I had said "Boo," he would have melted into the floor. I didn't even bother.

He gestured for me to follow, so I did. The house was richly decorated. What it lacked in subtlety, it surely made up in tastelessness. As I moved down the wide hall, my footfalls echoing up the paneled walls, I watched a steady progressing of paintings to my left. Beckett as a young man, booted foot atop a fallen hart. Him as a young man astride a stallion. In formal dress. In casual dress. Beside a young woman. The man obviously liked to look at himself.

Finally, the man stopped and opened a door. He stood silently watching me. Sensing that no invitation was forthcoming, I showed myself in. To my surprise, Beckett was already waiting for me. I managed to hide my shocked expression, loitering just over the threshold with my arms folded expectantly.

"Please, come in. Brandy?" he offered the drink.

I eyed it speculatively. To my further surprise, the little man laughed. "Ah, you're a cautious man as well as resourceful one. A man after my own heart. You've my word that no harm will come to you of drinking what I offer."

I turned my questioning gaze upon him and accepted the drink, holding mum. He sat and gestured for me to do the same. I complied.

"I must admit, you had me fooled. I thought you were an unlucky simpleton at first. And, then of course, you managed to commandeer and sail my ship alone. At first, I was enraged, of course. But, then, I hoped to find you and make you a little, well, an offer."

"An offer, eh? Now, this is interesting. You interrupted my dinner and dragged me by force to your home, insulting me along the way, and now you want to chat?" I asked. I still hadn't tasted the drink, but Beckett hadn't commented.

"You didn't seem like the sort of man who'd want to make arrangements in the street," he returned, dryly.

When I didn't answer, he pressed on. "Well, I'd like for you to work for me. The East India Trading Company, really."

I arched my eyebrows at him, but didn't speak. He continued, "Anyone who is as excellent a sailor as yourself will do well. You can go far, I promise you."

I stood abruptly. The shorter man sat back in his seat, obviously startled. I did my best not to smirk at him as I moved to the sideboard and set my glass carefully on the tray. Beckett watched me, but made no move to stand or withhold me."

I traced the rim of my glass, letting it whine into the palpable silence. When the note subsided, I finally faced him and spoke, "The young woman in the hall portrait? Is she your wife?"

Beckett relaxed visibly, "Yes. Teresa."

I smiled at the man and tapped my lips as if in thought. "I'd like to have a little while longer to consider your offer. Perhaps over dinner? Since mine was so rudely interrupted." I kept my speech clipped and formal, reverting to the life I barely remembered anymore with more ease than I would have thought possible.

The shorter man nodded, "Of course. My apologies. Shall I give you time to, er, refresh?"

I merely nodded.

Beckett called out, "Marcus!" and the door swung open, revealing my thin tour guide once more. He looked at Beckett expectantly. "Take master, er," he trailed off and looked in my direction again.

"Sparrow. Captain Jack Sparrow," I provided.

Beckett's eyes widened almost imperceptibly and I couldn't restrain the grin that spread across my face.

"Show Captain Sparrow to one of the suites and draw him a bath."

"And quickly, Marcus," I added, following him out. "I'm starving."

**XxXxXxX**

One bath and a fresh set of borrowed clothing later (apparently, Marcus and I shared an inseam), I found myself being shown into a drawing room outside of the dining hall. The room filled me with a sense of unease at the memory of my father and his wife, sitting at the fire, discussing my future as though I wasn't present.

Beckett sat, facing away from me toward the fire. A young blonde woman was seated across from him. I could just see her hair, framed by the loose tendrils that escaped the simple knot at the nape of her neck. Her profile was in the shadow, but I could see that she was delicately made with a fine, upturned nose and full lips. If she at all resembled her younger self from the portrait, I knew she would be stunning.

"But, Father, how will I act around him. If he is as filthy as you say," I heard the woman begin. Beckett noticed me first and cleared his throat._ His daughter? _I thought.

Beckett rose and approached the sideboard. "Sparrow? Would you care for a drink? I'm sure it couldn't hurt to dull you to my daughter's prattling," he noted, dryly, pouring two glasses before I had a chance to answer.

I joined him and took the glass as the shorter man sized me up. I knew I looked different. The shirt I wore was a little tight across my chest, so I left the topmost buttons open. The jacket was cut very snug, but it didn't fit me poorly. And, of course, I had left my hair as bejeweled as ever with the Remembrances, but it was freshly washed and shined blackly.

My own face had changed very much to me. I had only really seen my appearance in passing over the years, as there is little room for a looking glass among my effects. My cheekbones, always unusually prominent, stood out even more from my lean days aboard the _Vajrayana_. My dark eyes stood out against skin bare of any grime or the Kohl to which I had become accustomed. As a last minute decision, I trimmed my mustache and goatee neatly. Were it not for my hair, I probably could have passed for a gentleman.

I was uncomfortable at the inspection and relieved when he said nothing. His daughter, however, stared at me, unashamedly. I stared right back.

"Forgive me," Beckett began. "Captain Sparrow, my daughter Regina. Regina, Captain Jack Sparrow."

I bowed my head slightly as she stood to greet me. I took her hand and brought it to my lips, murmuring "Enchanté, mademoiselle."

I must have caught her as off guard as I suddenly felt myself, because she barely responded to my greeting. I hadn't spoken my native language in nearly ten years.

"Dinner is served," Marcos announced from the doorway to the dining room.

I offered Regina my arm and she took it wordlessly. I wanted to ask about Beckett's wife, but felt it would be inappropriate. I hadn't worried about being rude or impertinent in nearly as long.

During the first course, Beckett began once more to ask about his offer but Regina stopped him. "Please, father, no business at the dining table," she paused and then added sweetly, "The thought of you at sea unsettles me."

For the rest of the meal, we made polite conversation. Once, Regina tried to bait me with a question about the Caribbean. Her father silenced her with a glare. Obviously, the man had heard something of me to know that I came from the Caribbean.

It wasn't until after dinner that we actually talked more about his offer. Regina adjourned to the drawing room alone and we went to int the study.

"It's a peculiar offer, Beckett. You realize, of course, who I am."

Beckett faced the fireplace. After a beat, he gestured to the view from his window. I joined him at the portal and tried to see what he saw. "Out there is wealth to be had, Sparrow. A secure future. Your time is almost up as you're kind slowly fall to the pressure of companies like mine encroaching on the West. It will be only a matter of time before the Caribbean is on the trade route and where will that leave you?"

I smiled at the view of lush gardens with flowers and trees I couldn't begin to name. "Yes, but your life isn't for me."

He chuckled, "I actually thought so at first. But, I can see now that I was fooled again. You're as much a gentleman as I am."

"I don't know if that's a compliment, sir," I quipped back quietly.

I saw Beckett's reflection in the window grin. "Indeed. Equal parts piracy and propriety make a good businessman. So, you'll consider it? Sleep on it perhaps? I offer you my hospitality as long as it takes."

I nodded. As Beckett was about to snuff out a lamp when I asked about Teresa Beckett.

The shorter man cast his eyes downward before meeting mine. I guessed the answer before he answered.

"She passed away."

"I'm sorry," I murmured as I passed him. Beckett did not answer. I left him standing there, holding the lamp, gazing at the flame within.

"Captain Sparrow?" came a female voice from the shadows. I looked to my left as Regina's lithe form glided into a shaft of moonlight through the window. I smiled.

**XxXxXxX**


	17. Bothered, Begrudged, and Betrothed

I arched a brow in her direction, hoping that the expression was not lost in the dark. "Yes, Miss Beckett?" I ventured.

She grinned and strode toward me. No shrinking violet, this one. "You were so captivating during dinner, Captain, that I just had to talk to you alone."

"Are you certain that it is in your best interests? Most young women do not see men unchaperoned, especially when said man is a well-known pirate."

She scoffed. "One, you are not so 'well-know' as you seem to believe, Captain. _I _have never heard of you until this evening. And two, I am no ordinary young woman." She tossed her blonde head, as if that served as proof.

I suppressed a grin and turned on my heel. I heard her stamp her foot behind me and I smirked.

"How dare you turn away from me," she whined, impertinently. I shrugged and continued to the hall and on to my suite.

Finally alone behind the closed door, I sagged into a tapestried arm chair. I rubbed my face and stared unblinking into the fire, wholly dazed by the evenings proceedings. With the slightest glance at the overbearing opulence surrounding me, I knew I was out of place. Yet, I couldn't help but feel strangely at home.

Perhaps working for Beckett was something to consider. Perhaps the storied life of Captain Jack Sparrow was at a close and Jaques Sperrit needed to be reborn. I pondered as I peeled off my clothes and fell into the goose down mattress, reveling in its luxurious quality, as well as in the fine linens. I fell asleep thinking I could get used to such a bed.

And so it was that I found myself accepting Beckett's offer the following morning over a hearty breakfast, the likes of which I hadn't afforded myself in too many years. The decision came rather unexpectedly to me upon waking, and in the bright morning sun, it felt like the obvious choice. Beckett was elated.

"Good choice, Sparrow. I am most pleased. My superiors will want to meet with you, of course, but with my recommendation and the proper, er," he paused and gave me a cursory glance before tucking back into the feast, "Grooming, we'll have you admiral of a fleet before long. Ah, Regina, darling, you're just in time for the good news!" The last, of course, was directed at his daughter.

Regina flopped down into a chair near her father and speared me with a withering glance before taking the bait, "What news father? Is _our guest_ leaving?"

I quirked an eyebrow, but held my tongue.

Beckett ignored his daughter's remark, preferring to answer her question. "No, the Captain has agreed to take a commission with the Company. Isn't that splendid?"

"Absolutely," the girl deadpanned. I raised my gaze to her and saw that she was glaring at me. I smiled, serenely, knowing exactly what her 'absolutely' meant.

Beckett rose, suddenly, "Well, I must be off. I'm sorry to run out like this, Sparrow, but I have matters that require my immediate attention. Being at sea for so long has set me back, I'm afraid. You can entertain yourself today, I trust? I'm sure you'll want to see the port." Without waiting for my reply, her patted Regina's arm and hurried out the door, leaving me alone with his daughter.

And, the young blonde was throwing daggers in my direction.

I decided to break the tension, "So, Regina, what is that you wanted to talk about last night?"

She seethed for a moment before returning my smile, though hers did not quite reach her eyes. She obviously not used to being spurned. That revelation made me smile even wider. "I just wanted to hear more about the Caribbean, Captain Sparrow. You know, a girl like me is very lonely in a place where no one except the servants and her father's business acquaintances speak my language. And, a man of the world such as yourself must have a few interesting stories." I noted that when she said 'man of the world,' it sounded little like she was referring to that fact that I was well-traveled. If she expected me to bluster, she was disappointed.

"Of course, Miss Beckett," I stood. And, while I had been expected her to start a little at my intimidating height, it was my turn for disappointment. I forged on, however. "Men like myself have seen a great deal. Perhaps there is something in particular you'd like to know," I said, walking around the table to help her out of her chair. As I slid it back, I leaned close to her ear and nearly growled, "Or learn?" From my vantage point, I could see quite a bit of her ample bosom. And, since she did not shy away, I looked my fill as I helped her to stand.

She laughed, "Oh, Captain, you must have me confused with some poor farmer's daughter." At this, she tapped my chest in the spot where my borrowed shirt just opened to exposed my chest. Her light touch sent a jolt coursing through my veins. "There is a lot that _I_ could teach you." She made to move past me, but I caught her by her wrist. She looked up at me, equal measures expectant and flippant.

"One should not play with fire if one does not wish to be burnt," I warned, my voice coming out low and gravelly, despite my best efforts. I cursed my body for betraying me.

A smile lit across her lips and she stood on her toes and kissed me.

It was chaste, but when she didn't turn away, I took the opportunity to return the favor. I captured her face in my hands and brushed my lips over hers gently. I didn't let go and when I heard a little mewling sound come from her throat, I plied her kiss once more. She caught me around the neck, effectively pressing her body into mine and furthering the kiss.

Finally, I pulled away and let her go. She stared at me, her eyes glossy and filled with lust. I knew I was not dealing with an innocent woman. The thought gnawed at my belly, but the desire pooling lower in my loins won and I took her by the arm and hurried her through the hall. I couldn't see her, but I knew she was smiling.

Once more in my suite of rooms, as yet touched by the household staff, she toppled me to that luxe bedding without even bothering to shed her clothing. Her eyes were full of the Devil and delight as she freed me from my borrowed breeches and rode me. Shocked, I did little more than reciprocate.

Breathless and exhausted, she climbed off of me and made for the door. Her cheeks were pink and her mouth swollen from kisses. She threw a smile over her shoulder and stole out of my room. I took a moment to recollect myself before dressing.

Sitting up on the edge of my bed, I rubbed my face with my hands. I knew I shouldn't have let it happen, but, I reasoned, it wasn't as if he girl was naive. On the other hand, however, she wasn't the sort of girl that I could leave at port. She was the daughter of my future employer. And, she was a lady, no matter how much she dallied in things she did not understand.

I took myself out of the house and wandered the grounds, aimlessly. Part of me was searching for her and part of me did not want to find her.

However, I stumbled upon Regina in the stables. She was talking in a low voice, but I did not see anyone with her. I assumed she was talking to a horse and was about to call to her, when I saw a young Indian gentleman step out of the stall. I took a step back and flattened myself on the other side of the door, straining to hear their conversation.

"I did it, Sohan and soon we will be free of this place," came Regina's voice. She continued, but it was muffled and I couldn't make out what she said next. But, the young man's voice rang loud and clear.

"How long before your father runs him off, then?" his accent was as clipped and British as that of Regina's father. The boy was obviously well-educated and most likely wealthy. I almost snorted at the girl's little speech about being lonely and without anyone to talk to.

"It'll only be a matter of time. I wait for him to do the honorable thing, which he won't, and then I tell my father that I was taken against my will." My eyes widened at that little confession. It seemed that I was the topic of conversation.

They didn't say anything for a few moments, and when I was about to give up and walk back to the manor, Regina laughed. "It will be a pleasure to take the Captain down a peg or two." I smirked. A peg or two, indeed.

**XxXxXxX**

Regina found her father and I in the study just before the dinner bell. Her skin was flushed and her knot was slightly askew. But, given what I'd just asked Admiral Beckett, he didn't seem to notice.

"Regina, lovely of you to join us. I rather thought you'd have wanted to be here for Jack's request, but then, you never do anything I expect."

Regina cocked her eyebrows and turned to me, looking equal parts quizzical and suspicious. I smiled back at her, doing my best imitation of sincerity. "Yes, darling, I had hoped to have you by my side when I told your father of our imminent engagement. After all, we discussed it earlier. But, I simply could not wait for you."

The Admiral paled considerably when I repeated the word engagement. As far as he knew, I had fallen madly in love with his daughter, irrevocably so, and she shared my sentiments. And, we both wished for a hasty wedding.

I expected Regina to balk and to give up the charade, perhaps even to claim her young Indian, but she surprised me once more with a beaming smile. She crossed the room in a flurry of skirts and grasped my hand, giving it a tight squeeze. "Oh, Jack! You _are _a wicked thing, aren't you? Spilling the beans so early. I thought we were going to wait until after supper." She smiled at her father, dazzling him into reciprocating.

"Well, Regina, I must say I'm surprised," Beckett began. "But pleased. Your chosen fiancé has quite a future before him and will be a rich man soon."

I did my better not to sputter, choosing instead to smile at my future father-in-law. I had been duped, some how, and I was as yet unsure how to get out of it. Fortunately, I had a little more time to think on it, as Marcus appeared to announce supper.

**XxXxXxX**

And so it was that I found myself outfitted in a naval uniform six weeks hence. I stared into a looking glass, almost overcome by my changed appearance. My hair remained long, but gone were the locks and braids and my precious Remembrances (they had been sequestered to a gaudily bejeweled box). Instead, it was secured at the nape of my neck by, of all things, a blue ribbon. My coat had more buttons and baubles than I could have unearthed in Tia Dalma's hut, and I felt suffocated in the high-necked linen shirt. I shook my head and cleared my throat, feeling more like I was on the hangman's noose than to the alter.

I had thought on just leaving the country on one of the ships I was shown during my indoctrination into the East India Trading Company. Any fine vessel would have done me. But, alas, I couldn't find it in me to run. Not again.

And, Regina, had acted every bit as enamored of me as I pretended to be of her. I was almost convinced that whatever I heard in the stable that day had been misinterpreted. Perhaps she really did want to marry me. That thought was floating through my mind as the door to my suite banged open.

In the doorway, Beckett stood, wielding a hot poker in his left fist and brandishing a pistol in his right. "Sparrow!" he roared.

Rather than answer his rhetorical bellow, I pulled my own sword, a finely worked shortsword. Of course, it was little more than a decoration and I only hoped that it would serve to hold Beckett off enough for me not to have to use it.

"Is this any way to talk to your soon-to-be son?" I asked from behind what little protection the blade offered.

He sneered at me, thrusting the poker into the blazing fire. "On your knees, Sparrow. This is best done quickly."

"Care to inform me of what is going on, Admiral?" I ventured, making no move to obey.

He gestured to the floor with his pistol, "Defile _my _daughter? _You_? A bleeding pirate?"

I raised my eyebrows, questioningly. "Defile her? I intend to marry her. And last I checked, you were all for it."

"That was before she told me what you did! Taking her innocence and then pressuring her to marry you so that you could take her away and sell her into slavery in the Caribbean!"

A laugh bubbled over my lips before I could hold it in check. As I suspected, this only served to enrage the short man. "Come on now, Beckett. Surely this is some joke. That is absolutely ludicrous!"

He kept the pistol trained on me, and from the sweat beading on his brow and the trembling way with which is finger kept nearing the trigger, I knew that it was no joke indeed. Regina had gone to him on the day we were to be married so that she could have me killed and have Sohan to herself. More than a month had passed and she waited for this day. I suppose she had expected me to run out before the wedding. It was a damnably poor time to choose to be honorable.

And those words resounded through me brain as Beckett reached for the poker he'd cast into the fire. He turned it to me and it could see that it wasn't a poker at all, but a brand. The initial 'P' burned, hot and orangey-red. The smell of my smoldering flesh already burning into my nostrils, and the implement was still a good three feet from me. I cringed, but did not lower my poor excuse for a weapon.

Beckett smiled cruelly at me, his blue eyes glossing over with the same sadistic glee I'd seen in Barbossa's eyes when he killed. Still, I did not sink to my knees. But, I was backed into a corner, so I awaited my fate as stoically as I could.

"Roll up your sleeve, you dog," he demanded, gesturing now with the smoking brand. He stuck it back into the red-hot embers, keeping the firearm aimed at my face. I sheathed my sword and shrugged out of my coat, rolling up the crisp white sleeve of my linen shirt.

"A hundred wedding guests will be witness to you shame and shall hear your screams. I should castrate you for all you've put my daughter through," he rambled. His roar had dulled when his eyes took on that delirious sheen and I knew at once that Cutler Beckett was going to enjoy this.

"Do you know someone named Sohan?" I asked. I knew it was foolish, but I couldn't help but sow my own seeds when I knew I had not escape. If I was going to go down, I wanted this man with me. When Beckett did not answer, I continued. "Because he's tupping your daughter, as sure as I have. She was no innocent when she climbed all over me." Beckett seethed before me, his color rising quickly until I was sure steam would billow from his ears and mouth. Foolhardy though it was, I couldn't resist adding," There's no telling who else might have fallen victim to your daughter's wiles," I finished, showing Beckett the tattoo of the sparrow flying in front of a setting sun on my forearm.

And with one last, visceral shout, he grasped the brand with both hands and struck it down on the sensitive flesh just above my right wrist. Unable to contain it, I joined him with a bloodcurdling scream of my own as the hot metal seared my flesh.

**XxXxXxX**

I'll never know why Cutler Beckett didn't kill me.

I just woke up on the floor of that suite some hours later, my arm bound in a scrap of linen. I don't know if I had wrapped it before passing out or Beckett had. Or someone else. I remembered little of the moments after the metal had touched my skin. I was too scared to remove the cloth and too scared not to. I left it go, clenching my teeth at the pain that wracked through me as I stood.

The room reeled around me and I stumbled to the bed. There, on the bedside table was a ewer of water from the night before and I gulped it down hastily. It was a mistake on an empty stomach and world of hurt, and just as soon as I set the pitcher down, I retched the water back up.

I staggered out into the hallway. It was curiously silent. As I descended the grand stairway, I could see remnants of what was supposed to be our wedding celebration. Baskets and sprays of flowers littered the glossy hardwood floor. Shards of broken pottery lay amongst the mess of magnolia, carnation, and lotus. And, there on the floor in the middle of the mess, lay Regina. She was dressed in an elaborately embroidered gold gown, but it was torn and stained. With dried black blood. She was hunched into a ball, clutching at a blue jacket. Shaking, but not crying. Staring but not seeing. Alive but no longer living.

I walked straight past her and out the door.


	18. An Escape Home

I made haste once through the doors to the Beckett home. Keeping a sharp eye out for the man or any of his staff, I made my way to the port. I discarded my jacket on the way and tore my hair from the foppish ribbon. All I carried was Dalma's compass, my Remembrances, and that silly shortsword. It may as well have been made from wood for all the good it served me.

I was looking for a ship without colors when I felt a hand grasp my upper arm. I whirled and pulled my sword in one swift motion, ready to attack whoever attempted to waylay me.

"Sparrow!" came the man's frightened plea. Kavi.

I lowered my weapon and grasped his hand with a smile. "How the hell did you get here?" I asked, incredulous. I thought he might have died aboard the _Vajrayana. _

He grinned up at me. "Perhaps the Caribbean has given me some Fortune, eh? Once you sailed away, our crew bested the Englishmen and the captain promoted me to helmsman for my bravery. We sailed in, fully loaded and even heavy a few prisoners."

I clapped him on the back, "Good for you! Another good story, then. Are you staying here, or is it back to sea?"

"To sea, to sea, of course. We're making sail for the New World once more. What about you?"

I told him an edited version of my own tale and added, "And I'd like to put more some distance behind me, if that's at all possible."

Kavi brightened, "I'm sure the captain would love to have you back on board the _Vajrayana_. And, honestly, the company would be welcome. Even on a boat carrying my countrymen, I stand out."

"When do you leave?"

"First bell of the first dogwatch."

I looked up at the sun. That would be soon. I grinned. "If the captain'll have me back, I'd love to join you."

Kavi clapped me on my shoulder with a smile and hurried me down the dock. He spoke Hindi to a young boy there and sent him away before boarding a longboat. "Come on. I sent Aadesh on ahead to let the captain know. I'm certain the captain won't refuse, so we'll just follow him."

Once aboard ship, the captain came out from his cabin and spoke to Kavi. Kavi grinned. I assumed all was well.

And, it was.

Sailing was smooth. We didn't hit a single storm on the crossing. I knew better than to enjoy it, however. Filled sails and clean water usually boded poorly if they lasted too long.

I was right to worry. As soon as Kavi told me that we were about a two day journey from our destination in Barbados, the sky clouded over. They were great thunderheads, the kind that made one believe in an angry and wrathful god. The captain, wise to the weather's many tricks, began shouting orders. I understood most of them on instinct and all available hands hopped to to furl the sails.

Within minutes of spotting the clouds, rain was lashing the deck, soaking everyone through. And that wasn't to mention the waves that rolled over the port side as the ship bobbed up and down like a buoy. Lightening flashed across the sky and great winds knocked not a few sailors around and to their deaths in the depths.

Kavi and I lashed ourselves to the helm. I steered the ship as best I could beneath the turbulent skies. And then, there was a dead calm. The sea churned around us, still. But the winds had died and the dark sky had turned a rosy pink.

"The calm," I explained to a confused Kavi.

"Calm? That was anything but calm," he laughed, untying the line that held him safe.

"No! Leave it. The winds and rain will be start again once we pass through the eye."

Another voice shouted in Hindi from below me. I saw the captain come out onto the deck. He was smiling and bowing his head toward the floor.

"You see, Jack? Our captain has been pleading with the gods to save us. And, they have." Kavi slipped out of his rope and descended the steps to join his captain. Several of the sailors had joined him, kneeling in thankful prayer.

"No! Stop that!" I shouted, my voice sounding desperate.

It was drowned out by a sudden crash of thunder. The remaining crew was struck dumb. I saw their expressions in sharp relief as the lightening chased on its brother's tail. And the rain pounded down moments later.

Again, commands came from the captain, many of which were too late. Sailors were washed overboard. Kavi tried to scramble back up to the quarterdeck. I reached for him. The line lashing me to the wheel was not long enough and his fingers slipped out of mine. As he fell over the edge of the deck, his eyes wide and fearful, I heard a mermaid's shriek above the pounding waves, howling winds, and the crash of thunder and lightening.

I steeled myself and looked away from the spot where he'd gone over. My eyes glassed over as the captain and the few remaining sailors, desperately tying off loose lines and trying to communicate over the roar. The sounds were deadened to me as I piloted the craft.

The next day, I awoke to find myself still bound to the helm. The skies were clear and bright. No one was on the deck in front of me. I feared the worst. As I loosed the line and made for the port side, I noticed two things. One, I could see land. And two, the ship was sinking. And fast.

Without worrying about whoever might have survived below decks, as it was doubtful that anyone had, I turned back to the helm. I turned her hard to port and thanked whatever was watching over me that the rudder hadn't snapped off.

The ship turned groggily and the tide was with me. As the vessel continued to take on water, she slogged on valiantly toward the bustling port. I climbed ever higher on the main mast, not daring to pray that I might make it to the dock, just hoping.

And I did.

I made it. Over miles of sea, on three continents and a handful more countries. In and out of the arms of lovers and friends. My mother. Cary. Gibbs. Kensington. Dalma. Kolibrí. Bootstrap. Scarlett. Kavi.

As I stepped from the crow's nest onto the firm planking of the dock, I was accosted by a round gentleman.

"Hold up there! It's a shilling to tie up your boat at the dock! And, I shall need to know your name."

I grinned and waggled a purse at him. "What do you say to three shillings, and we forget the name?"

"Welcome to Port-Royal, Mr. Smith," he answered. He missed it when I plucked his purse from his book of names.

**XxXxXxX**

"And that, love, is the life of the greatest pirate that ever lived," Jack said, kissing my fingers.

I smiled back at him. The sun was rising over his shoulder. The rum had not lasted us the whole night, but his tale had kept me awake and riveted. "It's some story," I answered with a laugh.

He looked offended, "You don't believe me?"

"Mermaids?" I asked, skeptically.

He stood and pulled me close. "You believed me about the Kraken."

I arched an eyebrow and he laughed, pulling me to the bed in his cabin.

"Did you love Dalma?" I asked, softly.

"Not the way I love you," he responded, dropping a kiss on my collarbone. A chill ran down my arms at his feathery-light caress and I felt him smile against me.

"I love you, too, Jack."

He kissed me quiet and tumbled me against the blankets and pillows in out little nest, effectively shutting down any further questions.

**XxXxXxX**

**A/N: So that's it. Thanks to the people who reviewed and who stuck with me. Even if it took me forever (just over two months! Arrgh!) I finished it!**


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